I like to listen. I tend to let others do the talking. My good friend, Hannah, once wrote about me:
I know a girl who likes to go barefoot. I know a girl who jumps from haybales in the summer, jumps from snow piles in the winter, jumps jumps jumps from and into: lakes, fields, deeper things. I know a girl with poetry where her laugh lines will someday sit. I know a girl who lets stories settle in her backpack, in her journal, in the spaces between apertures where memories linger, I know a girl. I know a girl who blows bubbles because she can and has books in every pack and who knows all the words that matter. I know a girl who can kayak like nobodies business, who always finds the light, in sight, but, in life. I know a girl who collects maps and who loves pomegranates so much she probably smells like them and who dreams of being a mama, of sleepy eyed littles in the morning and kissing sweaty fevered heads and laughing over pancakes, lake days, prairie life. I know a girl who writes and each word feeds your soul and I know a girl who films and each scene stirs your soul and I know a girl who shoots and each photo touches your soul. I know a girl of grace and laughter and light.
I know a girl.