I always thought that a clear and sharp mind made for the best writing. After a meal of beef (Not sure why I ate it. Where's my veggie burger?) and a bottle of Chianti, lets try to prove that theory wrong.
First, I would like to step out and talk about the word choices. We make them every day. In what we say, think and decide. We live with them. We see them. Sometimes the consequences are what we had in mind, sometimes not. Bottom line, are the choices really about us?
How about changes. Right before our eyes the world keeps evolving. Nothing new about that. But, why is it that we're always surprised when change stares us down? Are we prone to conform so as not to worry? How about standing our ground? Why does change usually weaken our defenses? Not until we're comfortable will we exhale and say "yes, that's why I did it".
I write because I feel. I love because I can. I smile with every bit of sunshine sparkling through. This is me. Simple, complex and questioning. Always questioning. Have I figured it out yet? No. Definitely not. But I do know that with every flicker of movement, every breeze that touches my skin, I have substance. Within that substance is peace. I hold that close.
Along with every morsel of shift, comes the ability to soar. Every speck of opportunity, the capacity to learn. The words come freely. The pattern sometimes jumbled. But, I know that it's full and just waiting to be heard at times.