Oh, it’s magical. I see you on your unicorn followed by a trial of sparkles and serenaded by oohs and ahhs. You make it look so easy because, well, it is easy, isn’t it. Your special thing.
|
|||||||
|
I am ten and it is late October in Waterloo, Iowa and it is the last Halloween that I know I can officially go out and trick or treat. I am at that age—next year I will just be too old… Sometimes when I am painting, I think my canvas may bow in the middle like a cheap swing set—a result of all of the layers of paint that are resting on it. I’ve been waking up every morning between 4-430 for the last several months and I hate it. I’m tired. There is no reason for me to be up at the crack of ass. Passion is such a ruling planet in all our lives–if we allow it. Thank God they didn’t shoot Seabiscuit. There’s a soft center spot, a place where things have not fully come together, a sort of hazy Bermuda Triangle where change insists you shed something old and pick up something new. I glanced through Facebook this morning and it appears that all of my friends are curing cancer, building monuments and teaching children to read. Oh. |
|||||||
|
Copyright © 2013 an agent of change - All Rights Reserved |
|||||||
