I slide easily from one of my skins to the next, like a snake having shed and slithered off, wrapped in the new cover until it’s time to change again.

Some of my skins are always there and are woven into each skin I wear. My mom skin is probably the strongest, like a Kevlar vest or mithril of the elves, it is always protective, compassionate and ready for action.

My horse skin slips on like well-worn jeans. Grooming, riding, feeding, or just walking in the pasture covers me with a wild enthusiasm, like a horse kicking up his heels just because he can. This skin fits me like some famous Academy Award dress designer spent hours making it just for me.

My writer skin changes like spring bounding into winter. Words can sprout, grow and fill my empty fields or go dormant, sometimes die, from too much wind and cold. This layer runs deep, invading my dreams or gliding in a silent whisper alongside until I stop and notice and reach for a note-book.

Lately I’ve been struggling with parts of my skin, either itchy or loose, dry, tight and cracking, or trying to slough off while I desperately hang on, afraid my muscles and bones will be exposed.

Skin needs loving care to stay supple and stand as that protective layer, yet also exposure to drink in essential vitamins, age well and earn the lines of wisdom. When severe burns come, we must let go the cracked and peeling layers, or wait, letting the blisters do their healing work. When new, we have to tread lightly, easing into the skin a little at a time and with the proper SPF to shield until it can adjust and grow with us.

Don’t be afraid to shed the skins you no longer need, for they come to dust eventually and we must go on after a winter molt into the refreshing cool of a spring rain.