I write to understand the world around me, to carve my heart in the tree bark, to graffiti on the bridge “I was here”
I walk beneath the same moon that has seen peasants rise up and great kingdoms fall, I breathe the air that Jesus Christ expelled and feel the same burning passion that led Joan of Arc on her mighty crusade.
I have wished upon the stars, the same stars where presidents last hopes lie after all reason and logic has failed them – where, in the privacy of the night when man, woman and child are alone – when they reach to the universe and surrender themselves, finally admitting “I don’t have the answer – I cannot go it alone.”
I write to explore my soul, like a child stomping her foot on the season’s first frozen puddle, breaking the ice and seeing, appreciating the brilliance in the thin layer of crystal grasped in red mittens. Tongue stretching to touch it – to taste cold – to taste what one simply cannot taste.
I write to break free of my own limitations like a bronco in a rodeo, nostrils flaring, hooves pounding – stirring the dust, eyes red and flashing behind the gate that contains her. Cowboy so unaware…thinking this is his day.