What doesn't change is that most days I start my day here, typing words on this laptop that I send out into the world, like so many small birds flying in that heedless way they do in spring. Such brave, tender creatures.
Because once I release them, these posts have a life of their own. They land with a galumph or a splash. But always they land, even when posted from improbable places.
Today I send out my four-thousandth with as much curiosity and hope as I did my first.
(Thanks again to my youngest daughter, Celia, for the sign she made three years ago.)