I am officially infatuated with the person I am getting to know in Briar. Each day, like a magical bird, she molts, the beautiful feathers I have known and loved so dearly. They flutter delicately to the ground and in their place new, bold colored quills. I am fascinated and grateful by how mourning can turn to wonder as I bask in the newfound connection we have as the give and take of our conversation becomes more volley than catch. It’s hard to put my finger on exactly what is changing, yet I feel the inexorable passage of time. I am quite honestly terrified at growing old, not for loss of beauty or independence, though I’m sure I’ll mourn those, I shudder at losing…

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