photo credit: my mom
Happy birthday, Ashley. Sister, Campbell Soup girl, born late in a heat wave to round up the neighbor's horses, tear down a deer stand in the woods with an ax.
You are taller than Newt Gingrich. You have been to more countries than I can count. You can suba dive, speak Chinese, and read The Economist. You jumped first into the clothes dryer and the grain silo (that last one was a really bad idea) , but once, ten or twelve, we went to see The Secret Garden, and a pregant woman grabbed her husband's hand and gasped at how beautiful you were, passing in your velvet dress and blossom hat.
Blonde to my brown, blue to my black, light to my midnight, infinitely patient of your darker, sad sister, hurry. The carpet is lava, the cushions are burning, and the woods are full of dragons.
I am sending you something irresponsible because you are far too responsible, wild-haired, 24.