Since that perfect September day I have come to know how time can melt and freeze over and over again.
I’ve held it in my hand, a shimmering form icy and wondrous.
I’ve felt it rushing through my fingers, rivulets coursing in countless directions.
I can neither slow it nor predict its pace.
Mostly, I try to accept its rhythm, trusting that each shift reveals more of who she is and the pattern of where she’s been and how she has been never leave my soul.
Happy Birthday sweetest Briar.