The new year is a bright, crisp nectarine, but actually it's blood orange season.
The chance of a new year tastes like a crisp white nectarine.
It’s the cold air in the sun, the blank pages left in now-last year’s planner, the fresh exhale of meeting a new morning. And I don’t know where it’s going!
January is a precipice of overthinking. Maybe coming out of it, maybe teetering on worry over how I might seize the morsel of my life this…