When the weather turns softer so do I. In my white skirts and loose hair I start to feel like a little girl again. Today I'm seven, playing in the mud pretending to be an Indian Princess, last night I was small, dodging june bugs. Perhaps this could be Marcos and his adventurous spirit reminding me of a time when mine was alive on its own, or maybe I, inspite of my love for p-coats and fireplaces ablaze and frost on the windshield in the morning, I do open up in the spring like a flower. Summer will make me shrivel, but for now I'm alive.

I don't want to talk about apartments, budgets, money, school. Don't warn me about not having kids till I'm thirty. Don't tell me to stay in school. No more PG&E, no more job fairs. Just for now, just for today. Lets leave it at the door and rest.

I think I can see now what it is You're doing. But I wont ask for it, and I wont hope for it. Rather I ask only that You continue to work Your will; whichever apartment, whether the car works or we take the bus. It doesn't matter to me anymore. Bring about in our lives whatever You want, because we know that is the only place we'll be blessed.

Amen.