Good morning, evening.

Good morning, evening. I drift sleepily through my days with the sticky hands of childhood, the gloss of glue and ice cream. On the edge of my second year of college, things are changing. I am changing in some strange forward-backwards process. I see an old self inside of a new self, a laughing girl inside of a confident young woman, but even more, a twirling ballerina inside of a determined writer, a wonder-eyed child inside of an analytical, metaphorical growing self.

I am glad to move into this new writing space, even as I work determinedly to fill notebooks by hand. The Sunrise Blog is a place for noticing, for being alive. It is a place for asking questions. I read that if you can ask a question, you can also answer it. This does not demand accuracy, but rather the willingness to let you mind imagine a possibility to fill that blank. I also read this quote this summer, from Robin Hemley's memoir Nola:

"... not knowing is an answer, just as much as knowing is an answer, the way we say the words of a prayer, and sometimes we don't understand the words of the prayer of its true meaning, but we know what to say at the end of the prayer. We say amen."

And we do. Over and over we say amen, agree, call out in reply to the world that whispers the words to that prayer in our ears.

Good morning, evening. It's time to settle into night and tomorrow I can watch the world change again, like the sky turning itself a shock of gray this afternoon, gusting, but clear in spots, and suddenly opening into rain. I am opening into these days with the patience of Job, which is perhaps not patience at all, but the willingness to remain faithful in my impatience.