HOWL HERITAGE

I lost track of how long I’d sat on the damp curb. Staring. Just staring.
The envelope looked so much less important than it was in my limp, quivering fingers. It amazed me how much power a processed strip of dead tree had over me, over my entire life, past, present, and future.

My dreams and hard work stared back at me in bold, purple letters, on the same plane as my own name, enticing me to look inside and behold what lie ahead.

I took a deep breath to catch the heart I felt leaping up from my chest. My numb fingers peeled up the flap. I took another breath to pull the fateful letter out.

– Photo and Words by Shiann Roark