Today it’s raining. Raining rain and a crisp fall breeze, mustard-tinted leaves and tiny specks of hail. The sky is both blinding and dark, bright blue and filled with billowy puffs of white.
It’s not the first day of fall, not yet. But it feels like it.
I’m filled with hope and excitement.
I’m conflicted with trepedation and doubt.
I’m trying to reconcile the fact that I really like myself with all of my shortcomings; the weight I need to lose, the money I need to make, the house I need to keep cleaner, the dinners I need to make more often, the friendships I need to nourish more regularly.
I’ve only recently realized that I am a storyteller. There is both a lot of fear, and a lot of freedom in that realization.
I’ve never loved anything as much as raising hogs. I worry a lot these days about how much longer I’ll be able to do it.
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Also? I changed the main column size to be able to display larger pictures here, but I wonder how my readers feel about that decision. Is it too big?