Sunrises Over the Outback & A Quiet Echo Still Waiting

I’ve chased sunrises across the Australian outback –

red dirt under my boots, sky turning gold, no one else for miles.

I’ve walked Normandy beaches at dawn,

felt the hush of ancestors in every wave.

My great-uncle was one of them.

One of the ones who stormed it.

I walked where he ran.

I breathed where he couldn’t.

Nine countries.

Forty-eight states.

All alone,

all teaching me:

you don’t force the light.

You stand in it long enough

and it finds you.

Then Ashford Castle, Valentine’s 2023

Solo.

Falconry.

Glove on.

Bird lands.

Eyes like fire, wings folded like secrets.

“Don’t move. Let him trust.”

So I stood still.

Wind off the lake.

Stone walls older than my bloodline.

One of the most romantic places on earth —

and I was the only heartbeat in the yard.

I didn’t feel empty.

I felt… rehearsed.

Like the castle knew I was practicing.

Like the hawk knew I wasn’t trying to catch her.

Like the day knew I’d one day bring someone back.

Because I used to force it.

Apps.

Plans.

“Be here at eight, kiss at nine.”

Then I traveled.

Learned.

Love isn’t a schedule.

It’s a falcon.

You let it come.

You let it go.

You stand still.

And when it decides —

it lands.

And I did.

I stood.

I loved.

I waited.

America answered.

The White House wrote.

History kept it.

So now?

I’m not hunting.

I’m open.

And somewhere —

maybe someone who’s also stood alone

under a bird of prey,

or under a castle sky,

or under a clock with melting chocolate —

will feel the same pull.

Not because I’m asking.

Because I’ve finally learned

the difference between

wanting and waiting.

I can do both

at the same time.

And the right one

will know it

without me saying a word.

🇺🇸