When I was younger...
I used to look at my moles and freckles and think of them as constellations on my skin.
I would blow air at red lights in order to make them change to green.
I built beautiful castles from rocks and clay - and sprinkled whimsy upon the possible.
I'd sing with wild abandon - and then sing some more.
I carried a thesaurus with me. Mostly because I love the way of words and how they made magic.
I saw every song and word with colors and possibility.
I mourned with big tears and small sounds - It was my way of "stoic."
When I was young...
I laughed with wild abandon - hand gestures and facial expressions were mighty... in-tune.
I took longer showers and baths - bathed in candlelight, with chipped cups of hot tea.
I paid attention to the art of color because it's everywhere and not near enough.
I noticed the importance of a good pillow - fluff, feather and that contented sigh of comfort.
I realized how much garlic can make the difference in a good dish - and a great one.
Bread - needs no "I" - holy buckets, learning the yeasty rise and fall still makes me sway with love.
I knew that I will always be the curve and not the straight line - bread makes the curve.
When I was now...
I realize that I don't find magic in my moles and freckles near enough - they're beautiful.
The constellations and full-moon call to me at night - I think my freckles called them near.
I understand the beauty of James Taylor and Melody Gardot - I relish in their sounds.
I sway to good tunes and right rhythm. I let the bass note rest on my lips.
I think too much - and often in areas where I could be better versed - but I haven't known the challenge.
I realized that I could be part of every possible display of color - and took up the art of art.
I giggle at how I didn't pay enough attention to the small things. They're so beautifully big.
I am. Just as the younger, young and now - I am. It's joyous and mine. It's now.
I used to look at my moles and freckles and think of them as constellations on my skin.
I would blow air at red lights in order to make them change to green.
I built beautiful castles from rocks and clay - and sprinkled whimsy upon the possible.
I'd sing with wild abandon - and then sing some more.
I carried a thesaurus with me. Mostly because I love the way of words and how they made magic.
I saw every song and word with colors and possibility.
I mourned with big tears and small sounds - It was my way of "stoic."
When I was young...
I laughed with wild abandon - hand gestures and facial expressions were mighty... in-tune.
I took longer showers and baths - bathed in candlelight, with chipped cups of hot tea.
I paid attention to the art of color because it's everywhere and not near enough.
I noticed the importance of a good pillow - fluff, feather and that contented sigh of comfort.
I realized how much garlic can make the difference in a good dish - and a great one.
Bread - needs no "I" - holy buckets, learning the yeasty rise and fall still makes me sway with love.
I knew that I will always be the curve and not the straight line - bread makes the curve.
When I was now...
I realize that I don't find magic in my moles and freckles near enough - they're beautiful.
The constellations and full-moon call to me at night - I think my freckles called them near.
I understand the beauty of James Taylor and Melody Gardot - I relish in their sounds.
I sway to good tunes and right rhythm. I let the bass note rest on my lips.
I think too much - and often in areas where I could be better versed - but I haven't known the challenge.
I realized that I could be part of every possible display of color - and took up the art of art.
I giggle at how I didn't pay enough attention to the small things. They're so beautifully big.
I am. Just as the younger, young and now - I am. It's joyous and mine. It's now.
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