“Use your words.” Thoughts struggle for translation, hover just out of reach, waiting, waiting for realization—a musical note balanced on the horizon, ready to take flight. The gentle nudge, a summer’s breeze. “Use your words.” Growing and shifting, they may have stumbled, leaves tumbling from trees, but the words came. They always did, each time my mother or father encouraged me as a young child to find them, to gather them and release them tenderly from my grasp. Language flutters against the kitchen curtains, flows from room to room, glowing on the walls and dancing delicately in the air, settling into the shelves between books like golden dust. I remember…