The sun has not even begun to rise, I am tired, yet here I sit. Wondering, why does my brain do this? Why can I be so tired, yet with one roll over in bed, I am awake enough to have a thought pop in and here I am, awake?

There is a quiet magic in the changing seasons. One day, the air carries the last golden whispers of summer; the next, it's laced with the crisp promise of autumn.

walking on a balance beam Life has a way of rewriting our plans. I thought I understood what balance meant — until I became a parent to...