Last weekend--our second in a row at home!--I finally moved the last of the firewood from the parking area where it was dumped in April to the place where HH stacked it.  I had cleared four or five feet back from the edge of the pile when I discovered this:

 

It's a milkweed plant. As chlorophyll deprived as it was, it had managed to grow in the middle of the log pile.

I'll cherish this image as a metaphor for many, many things, from what it takes to be a writer to why some children can grow up in the worst of circumstances and still somehow thrive and excel.

The latter thought is inspired by two stories.

  I haven't finished it yet, but my heart has been so touched by this 15-year-old who is trying to do the right thing. Coe Booth has his voice nailed and her description of Tyrell's life--homeless in the Bronx--pulls no punches as it takes you inside Tyrell's world.

The other inspiration is this feature in the Colby alumni magazine that arrived yesterday. Jeronimo Maradiaga is my hero, he really is, because he acknowledges the pain of falling between two cultures, even as he recognizes his achievement. He's got a lot in common with another young adult I know, whose working-class parents refuse to contribute anything toward her college education, but who is determined to get that college education because she knows what she wants to do with it (and believe me, she has the skills). 

I also admire Maradiaga because he is reaching out to others, gathering their stories, and letting them be heard.

Tenacity. It's what turns potential into reality.