Words dance circles in my head, on my tongue, on the page. Leaping and twirling and full of life, they want to be put down, expressed, sung, heard. And I love them. I love what they have to say. All of the stories they produce. All of the prayers they can lift. The way they can construct masterpieces.
Lines, like melodies, singing to me. They seek to encourage and empower and entertain. Like bubbles rising up from the bottom of the sea, they pop and leave marks on those they touch. My hope is that the mark they leave will be gentle and good.
Spilling forth, they come. More and more. May they not just be babble, but may they paint pictures of perfection to be given as gifts to others. And the reward for me is being able to paint with words. To be an artist that creates, not with paint or clay, but with syllables and stanzas. That is my joy.