They say—and I do too when I’m being preachy--
to write about what you know.
What if I haven’t experienced enough in my lifetime to
paint you the landscape I can see and feel in my head?
It’s a drippy one; the acrylic has barely dried and I
notice it remaking itself
endlessly. But oh, it’s beautiful and far more
creative than anything
my days could create.
Would you like to know what’s in my head?
Let me spend years with you, sipping coffee
in the living room like we’re old friends,
I’ll reminisce about the lifetimes I’ve never lived
and the moments still waiting to be unwrapped.
Together we’ll write the “oh my God, this is it!”
dangling off the edge of my tongue,
afraid to let go and become a reality.
Instead of the truth, let me tell you about
a painting of mountains.
There’s one in my dreams, a watercolor silhouette of who I’d like to be someday--
strong, delicate, and formidable.
All cliffs and grey brush strokes fading quietly into the canvas around.
Let’s take a breath together and be one with the world and dream about what it’s like to feel as if nothing can shake you.
Are you listening? Good.
So let me tell you about mountains.
Writer, editor, and storyteller living in the Twin Cities.