When Kina said this about me, it was with a sense of real resignation, that I might never be taught to think otherwise about whatever it is that my brain contemplates so habitually. On one hand, it seems unlikely that a four year old could understand the inner workings of her daddy’s brain. On the other, I may not be as complex a puzzle as I might like to believe. Maybe we’re all just open books, gears on display like neurotic automatons. In any case, Kina’s got your number, you better believe it.

dad

p.s. Super proud of today’s turbine illo, featuring our little goddess of the wind. Blow, child! Blow!