Are you safe, Goo?

A small piece of sky‑talk between a father and his girl, carried across distance the way love always knows how.

A small message tossed into the sky.

And she answers ...

oopsie, I’m a bad texter ...

the same way she always has:

lightly, lovingly,

like a bird calling back across a canyon.

She’s not much with screens ...

of course she isn’t.

She’s a cliff‑dweller, a sky‑walker,

a woman who lives in real air and real stone,

the kind who finds the highest rock

and the widest sky

and makes a home out of both.

She got her mama’s sharp‑as‑a‑fresh‑pencil mind,

that bright intelligence that sees the world

in angles, possibilities, and the need to wander.

And she got my adventure ...

my Simba laugh‑at‑danger streak,

right up until the horizon finally answers back.

But before all that,

she was my little snuggle creature,

all giggles and neck‑lick gobble games,

a wanderer with a compass in her bones

long before she ever touched a mountain.

Now she’s out there in BC, Canada,

climbing with a pack of sky‑hungry wanderers,

Boone trotting along

like the world’s happiest Husky‑Lab sherpa ...

both of them living the exact life

their lineage prepared them for.

And sometimes,

I send a message into the bright nowhere ...

just a simple

hey goo, how are you ...

the silly baby‑girl nickname

that still unlocks her replies.

Not nostalgia,

but lineage.

She writes back:

oopsie, I’m a bad texter,

and the update settles into my chest

like a warm stone.

Not heavy,

just grounding.

Because even halfway up a cliff face,

the father‑magic still reaches her.

And she tells me she’s safe.

And Boone is safe.

And the sky is kind today.

And that’s enough.

It always has been.

*******

Much Luv, xo