After two nights of fitful sleeping with mews barely as loud as a whisper piercing my soul, Briar has turned a corner and is feeling almost herself again. Almost because there is still a translucence to her skin and an impossible sweetness to everything that she does, that is too good, too sweet. Not my girl, for she is more. More alive, more intense, just more. I love her as sweet, gentle and tender, but it’s her fire that delights me. Her iron will, her strength of purpose and direction even when it involves pens, a white wall, teeth and my favorite book. She is my Briar, in the mend, but not quite back. Brace for a post on the return of my spirited…