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...I recognize that I don't say it enough and it's quite possible that making mention isn't necessary however events happen, life happens and eyes open – silently nudging me to grasp, understand, treasure the beauty that glues me together. And well, it's your fierce protectiveness over the ones you love that sets the levels of admiration sky rocketing when thoughts turn to you, dear friend – it’s quite remarkable. Anyone lucky enough to have a place in your life... to deserve you standing over them as a shield when the world and everyone in it decides to be cruel is blessed probably more than they know.

Perhaps what I am alluding to is if I don't say it enough – every time you’ve played that role, every time you've wanted nothing more than to keep me away from any type of harm, I cherish it. I hold that knowledge somewhere safe inside, calling upon it during moments of solitude. There is strength to be drawn from such awareness and it keeps me from stumbling. To be able to walk with just a little less fear because I am connected to souls such as yours helps me stand just a little taller.

My appreciation is endless ...please never forget that.

I spied Hope sitting in silent vigilance way above the scratchings of playful souls looking to make their mark and lovers declaring the first day of forever. I noticed Hope over disappointed slashes of the heartbroken seeking ways to raze a haunting memory. I discovered Hope in its rightful place – among carved hearts faded with time yet etched deep enough to continually celebrate remembrance.

This was a day I found Hope...or did it find me?

I don't know how it happens really; I don't know how a melody finds a way to entwine notes of silent understanding around me when my own words fail. I'm unsure how to illustrate the way it contours my body - sinuously dancing like impassioned fire at first recognition, softening to seductive smoke, slowly seeping into my veins until it touches the very center of me. But it happens every now and then, greeting me with hushed empathy when I can't unearth the perfect string of consonants and vowels to untangle the constant thoughts that run and crash into each other…

*Misty Boston is the artist responsible for the artwork above and my written inspiration. Her work continually matures and this canvas, placed ever so carefully on her wall, caught my attention stirring something within, reminding me how music along with its understanding and the movement it eloquently triggers can soothe and bring joy the soul. Please feel free to visit her sites: mistyboston.blogspot.com and bostoniata.etsy.com.

That’s right – I said it. You just can’t make this stuff up and quite frankly, wouldn’t change her story for the universe sliced, diced and served with fresh mojitos. I mean otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to say, “I’ve a friend named Boston who lives in Boston. No really – I do.” She’s the artsy, fartsy friend that speaks of chalks, paints and watercolors the way most of you speak of lenses and bokeh!

Yep. That’s her. And that face.

I have other pictures with her rather contagious smile and beautiful though it is, that’s the face I read in an email, hear over the phone and picture over instant messages (during hectic days when either of us HARDLY have the time to message each other.) That right there is the face that starts as quite serious but as you can see, can't stay that way for very long - it cracks me up when I’m too serious, when tears are streaming down my face, when I’m being incorrigible and of course, a good ole fashioned brat. It just doesn’t fail.

Neither does her friendship...