This month everything seems a muddle and a trouble, and I cannot wrap my arms around the sentences in my brain. Ideas slip away like alligators, twisting and refusing to be held; like clouds, shrugging at attempts to define their edges; or like water, uninterested in diversions, and seeking only to return to the sea.

All I seem to want to do is read and drink tea and immerse myself in stories already formed and presented for my enjoyment. (“Babel” by R.F. Kuang, for example.) I am so grateful for books.

I talk about this crazy world with my neighbors, grateful for like-hearted people living nearby. I read the newspapers and write stories about lands far away, their citizens in conflict. I add fantasy by including characters with powers untapped in us mere mortals, and inanimate objects capable of speech.

I walk the beach and find small driftwood pieces that look like animals, and logs with topography and whale bodies, and trees that could be trolls frozen in time. With friends, we create impermanent little villages for the insects.

At night, it is clear and cold. I stare at the stars so hard that when I go to bed and close my eyes, their messages of light are imprinted on my eyelids. Star light is so old that even if I could understand a message, it would be like receiving a letter from a friend that died over a million years ago. Still, it is a message and I want to understand it.

No matter what, I remind myself, create and build whatever you can. Regardless of what is happening in the world, keep creating. We are all in this together and messages of unity are among us.  Even as I write this, a dear friend is watching football and some of the player helmets say, “Choose Love”.

I will write a story wherein this is the message from the stars.

Until next space, lots of love …..