When I was younger, I’d come into the woods to think about my birth mom. I’d come without Tofu, since he’d cheer me up too much and I actually wanted to be sad. Besides, he scares away the wildlife. I always wrote “Dear Birth Mother” notes and hid them under rocks. I did that because my old idea of sending balloons with notes tied to the strings would not really work. They would burst way before they crossed the Pacific Ocean and a bird might mistake the dead balloon for food and choke. How could a birthday party balloon make it all the way to China from Maine? It  wouldn’t even make it from Wolfgang to China, Maine, and there is one. Besides, my birth mom probably  doesn’t read English.  Sometimes I look for my old notes, but they’re mostly decomposed.