Life doesn’t come with instructions. But it has blueprints and they swerve within us. I found them in the pond behind Rockinghorse Lane, in the water where the otters swam. In mothers who I believe are divine. In the scrubs oaks and Sable palms and cicadas in my memories.

In the silent, blaring dialogue I have with the booming voices in my head. The discerning voices of my parents. The bleats of the crying child and the angry brother. The sovereign calls of The narrator who’s language cannot be known but is felt so deeply in quiet knowningness and coded through bloodlines.

I spent years asking:

Who narrates the stories in my head? What is the story about? Where is the codex of life?

In my time of inquiry, what I came to know, I put in “Humblewood.

Please enjoy.

Sincerely,

Jahfre