Its your birthday dear dear sister.

I used to push you round the tennis court lawn in your red jump suit. You had a cute Amelié hair cut - and I the blond mop. So many years, so much heartbreak and pain, and also, you have grown up - on the inside where it matters. Matters not the accolades and job titles, matters little the salary band and job perks if the inside you is stuck and still. But this is not your way, not your path. You take what is coming and make like some stoic of old. Hold three boys like a clutch of wild salmon, or perhaps the bears that eat them - do all this with the power of an ancient one.

It is always a marvel to behold. In my heart of hearts you are beautiful, fierce, tender, passionate, up for anything, able to cry, and a deep down lover of the soft places in each human soul you meet. I wish we were closer in land and road, but we are closer than bodies could be.

My kith and kin, you bless me always my sister, love me like only a big, little sister could. And on this day as you round the sun, moon and stars once more it is I who sit like an audience for one in marvel.

Happy, happy birthday my dear Bloss.