I love this picture of her, with her red lips and her white wine. Little lace collar, woven together as delicately as the words she writes.

Poetry.

She’s a poem.

Or a song—an Extraordinary Machine, or an Everybody Else’s Girl, or a Cloudbusting.

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Today is Jeannette’s birthday, and I’m thinking about her life, and how much of it she’s shared with me.

Handwritten letters in blue ink, wrapped in ribbons—I’ve kept them all!

Late nights with red wine (and don’t judge, but cigarettes!) and yoing-old-soul questions, like 

“What city in the world do you think your could be your truest self in?”

and

“Will you travel there, then?”

Dreaming and goal-setting and checking in—

“Are you ok?”

“Are you taking care of your heart?”

“Do you know how meaningful you work is?”

No one understands better than a Capricorn the power of mindful questioning.

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When I was a little girl, reading Anne of Green Gables, dreaming of finding kindred spirits of my own, I never could have imagined her.

Or maybe she is exactly what I imagined, but never believed I’d find.

Either way, nearly two decades ago, I found a friend to travel through womanhood with. What a gift that she is alive in the world!

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Jeannette Encinias is a writer, an inspiration, and a friend. You’ll be blessed to know her. I have been. You can get in touch with her at jeannetteencinias.com.