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up the earliest this morning, the sun has barely started peeking above the horizons.

And the birds are already awake and singing.

Who do I say that I am?

This question weighs on me today in the same way it has for many years.

Did I ask that question when I was twelve ... or fifteen . . . or nineteen? I don't think I did because I did not understand the importance of knowing myself and possessing myself.

Thoughts are replaced by physical work. I cannot do both simultaneously. I dig up and move over twenty hosta plants.

We select and pick up the field stone for stepping stones up the pathway. I adore them and am so looking forward to planting something small and wonderful around them.

power struggles at play and mostly I am just too tired to engage.

A walk around the neighborhood makes me love my own little yard even more. It's soft and wild just like me.