FRIENDS, ARTISTIC COLLABORATORS, AND STRANGERS ALIKE;

THESE DAYS ARE AN IMPOSSIBLE MAELSTROM — PERHAPS YOU KNOW THIS, TOO. THESE DAYS, I AM FOLLOWING A STALE TRAIL OF BREADCRUMBS — CARTOGRAPHER'S NIGHTMARE, SOFT MAP BACK TO MYSELF. THESE DAYS ARE FRAUGHT WITH UNCERTAINTY, RUPTURE, QUESTION MARKS — SOOTHED ONLY BY BOWLS OF BONE BROTH AND KISSES ON EYELIDS FROM FRIENDS. THESE DAYS, MY PALMS ARE EMPTY, MY WALLET IS BARREN, AND MY HEAD IS A WILDFIRE AT DAWN.

THESE DAYS I AM SCOURING COAT POCKETS FOR TRAIN FARE AND PILFERING TOILET PAPER FROM PUBLIC RESTROOMS — APOLOGIES TO THE COFFEE SHOP BY ME. THESE DAYS, I AM LOATHE TO ASK FOR HELP, A BALM, A LIFELINE — TERROR-STRUCK, PARALYZED, FULL OF LACK. THESE DAYS, I AM RICH ONLY IN MY DESIRE FOR STABILITY, FOR THE TECTONIC PLATES TO QUIET, FOR THE HOUSE TO SETTLE. 

IN SHORT, I AM VERY BEHIND ON RENT. 

IN SHORT, I AM TRAVERSING A FLIMSY TIGHTROPE.

IN SHORT, I AM IN A SEASON OF PROFOUND SCARCITY.

IN SHORT, I AM TENDING TO MY GARDEN, AGAIN.

IN SHORT, I AM ASKING FOR YOU TO CONSIDER EXTENDING SOME CARE IN THE SHAPE OF GENEROSITY MY WAY — A MIRACLE FROM PALM TO PALM.

THANK YOU AND SO MUCH LOVE,

VAL