Just start writing, they say. And then, once you've worked at it, revised it, toiled over the piece, you'll give up on it and begin another. And if you do this for volumes worth of work you will eventually, maybe, find something of worth that lives up to the standards you have (and by the way they are high and unreasonable, but very polished standards).

Ok, fine then.

Lilacs.

Huge bushes of them, taken for granted, bloomed each spring, They introduced themselves across the entire west side of our yard in Valley City with a light and intoxicating fragrance that is still unparalleled. The smallest blooms grouped together in the thousands to present a stunning conspiracy of a bouquet that was unmatched by any other in the yard.

Purple, white. Sometimes a strange hybrid that produced a soft pink. Always stunning, lilacs were the great crescendo of an awakening Spring season.

Dogs.

Your tongue hangs lopsided out of the left corner of your mouth, little one. Your eyes shine and your mouth is wide open after our walk. For its entirety you trotted alongside of me and snapped your head from side to side to discover every small thing you could. The grass you have smelled one hundred times is as new today as it was three years ago. But behold, although I am merely an observer at this I realize your intentions. To become a king in your neighborhood, known and formidable. We are not that different after all, you and I. We understand the marks we leave behind - in whatever our preferred fashion - are oft the only we are able to grant passing strangers.

Beer.

Open a beer, commence cooking.

For a time I convinced myself I liked pilsners the best, with a dry, fruit-forward, lightly crisp taste that is easy to anticipate with each sip. Then I discovered the oatmeal stout, a heavy drink that lazily wraps itself around your tongue and seems to thicken in your stomach. An amber ale is a steady regular and a lager of the same ideal, but the real adventure lies in the hoppy affects that an unruly IPA will present its taster. So carry onwards and up, toast to a good dinner, and invite your favorite friends.
And keep chipper, there is plenty of good beer.

Perhaps, now. It is again time to write.

Dear virtual diary,

Please give me a few days to remember you. I will mull clever words around in my head and try to remember them long enough to tell you stories that make no difference either way. I will assume no one will read this and greedily accept the secret that I am publishing my very own thoughts onto a website. And this will be enough for now but my spirit still hopes I will retain the hunger I once felt compelled to feed. May I never forget the first real loves of my life: words.