Being a daily writer doesn't make me great at communicating. What is written is shared with me. Not invented by me. My entire life I've always admitted to listening to the wind. There's energy there/ A source of invisible strength that moves through us in ways that lift a thought into actuality and or at least some place nearby. Instead of trying to build the perfect life what if we agreed to have poison ivy clinging to our sides? To have ugly limbs dangling to keep us balanced. To not be a tree with a famous label but rather an ordinary bush with funny looking flowers.