You can let yourself be known here. It doesn't matter what happened at age nine, or 22, or even 36, if you're there yet. It's fine to step into the world, into the light. We like you the way you are. In fact, we prefer it.

You can let yourself be known here. Do you need more coaxing? You've got it. Come out. Come see us. Just make us one promise. Once you're out, you won't completely retreat. Not this time.

Step out. You're a wonderful dancer. You've always had great moves. You can boogaloo with the best.

If you stand in front of a mirror, you'll see some of what we see, but only in two dimensions. See your beauty in every dimension, and all the dimensions to come.

You can let yourself be known here. You speak and move with a flow that is captivatingly yours. You don't need to measure your steps. Also, don't do it for us, even though we admire you. We enjoy your enjoyment. We applaud you in every instance.

You can let yourself be known here. Maybe you're madcap. Frivolous. Serious. However you like. You can try on new faces. There is much you haven't shown the world, let alone yourself.

As you play, you uncover yourself. Bring back the things you left behind, but only if they suit you now. Be done with all the rest. Speak and let us hear your voice. It is needed.

You smile now. How your smile forms. It's beautiful, you know. Sometimes there's a great belly laugh brewing. It erupts and you are renewed.

You can let yourself be known here. It's liberating. Get used to it. You can express all the facets of yourself. You needn't merely brand yourself. You are beyond that.

You can let yourself be known here. It's all on tap. Drink from the endless fountain. Fill yourself up, darling, until you overflow. We love your overflow.

You can let yourself be known here. On your own terms. At your own pace. We love you. All of you. The light. The darkness. The shadows. The angles. The soft parts. The unspoken. The untapped. The heart and soul of you. And all the in-betweens.

It's the smallest things ... [from a prompt by Laurie Wagner]

It's the cobwebs I won't remove because the Daddy Long-Legs remain alive in January. Would I like it if someone knocked down my home?

At 4:00 A.M., I browsed seed catalogs, imagining new life in empty pots. Miniature roses, yes. And then, what would the hummingbirds like? Blue sage, for sure. Those furious heathens look ethereal, yet they battle from sunrise to sunset.

It's last night's crumbs on the counter and how I've stopped being so fussy.

It's the feeling of a cat walking on me when I can't sleep. She knows I'm awake, so why not make use of me?

It's dreaming of tarts from a bakery. I want them fresh and warm. Lemon. Apricot. Cherry. Real whipped cream.

It's fruit that is in season. I see lemon and orange trees all over town. And what do the owners do with the fruit they can't consume? Do they box or bag it up for others, or let it all fall to the ground? Some two- or four-legged interloper might hop the fence and claim it. They'd be caught on surveillance cameras.

It's amazing how many figs fall and get squished on the pavement. A carton of figs costs $6.95 at the supermarket.

It's the fog and mist after a rainless summer. It's the rain gauge showing that two-and-a-half inches fell over the past five days.

It's binge-watching The Man in the High Castle and being fascinated with quantum mechanics. I've never read Philip K. Dick, and now I will.

It's the two leftover chicken tacos in the fridge. They're probably soggy by now, and the guacamole will be brown. But they'll be tasty, even cold, because Randy is a taco master.

It's the crows keeping the resident hawk at bay. The hawk persists in claiming this territory. But there's a time for stubbornness, and a time to move on.