my husband thinks i'm a geologist...

the other day i caught myself showing off

my rock collection to a dear friend.

telling her my easy dreams and big ideas.

actually, my husband caught me.

he said i was a geologist.

there are certain things i remember about growing up.
i remember taking long walks...

back and forth down the dirt road to the neighbor's house.

i was almost always followed by a trail of dogs, even goats.

i'd entertain the trees.

i would think out loud:

stories

poems

imaginary creatures.

i'd be gone for hours without realizing.

physical books would come later...

collaborations with friends.

notebook pages and printer paper bound by staples,

written and illustrated by our own hands.

i remember posing my stuffed animals in the front yard...
i was on a photo safari, creeping up upon

unsuspecting plushes grazing in the flower bed.

i had a lot of animals.

all different kinds.

they made me happy.

i remember drawing in all my spare time.
i remember collecting rocks, coins, fossils, little curiosities...

i even had a rock tumbler.

i remember wearing cowboy boots

and shoestring bows made by my grandmother

for me.

i tell you all this because i came to a conclusion

that was a long time in the making...

you are made to be you.

for awhile i felt as if i had lost sight of myself.

but i feel as if i have settled back into my skin...

i have embraced my heart once again.

i have returned to sunny optimism

and a barefoot soul.

i am STILL a photographer.
i am STILL an artist.

i am STILL a writer.

i am STILL a lover of nature.

i am STILL a wild berry picker.

i am STILL comforted by Reba's quilts.
i AM who i always have been.

and will be.


just reconstructed.


i am STILL a rock collector.

my husband thinks i'm a geologist...