The dining room to the school is overflowing. It’s the Dreams Die Hard Diner, held only once a year, every year, on the first morning of the year. Four years in this valley, three breakfasts at the Diner, and every year more faces that are dear to me, more embraces to give, more blessings to count. This year the day is warm, blustery, and Renee meets another Renee, who is also wearing stripey tights, and they run about in celebration of girl power, screaming when the wind pushes against them, gathering rocks, plotting against boys. Inside Andrew and I peruse the community calendar for the next five months; it’s printed out and sold each year at the Dreams Die Hard Diner, and it’s full of yoga and poetry events, film and book discussions, pizza parties and other creative offerings for young and young at heart. This is the community where I live, and it’s thickly woven with threads of creativity and wisdom and heart.

How blessed I am, to live in this place so rich in beauty!


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