Thick frost coated everything this morning-one of those mornings that pulled at me to write. Coming in the door at dawn and re-filling my mug with that wonderful, hot black life, the array of pens caught my eye.

Pens hold so much possibility, like a horse in a pasture! I can write hopes and dreams, sadness and loss. I can lift up or bring down. I can ride my horse through the pages, dream anything I can imagine, create my perfect room or house or writing space. Mountain scenes, meadows, snow storms all come to life as ink flows from the tip of the pen.

I can meet new friends here and relax with coffee, tea and lemon meringue pie. We can talk for hours about horses or tractors or the stars. That horse eating alfalfa can be saddled with his buddy so we can ride through the frosty cold morning.

I can go places I’ve never been and linger in small secret spaces. I can recreate myself as many times as I need to, fix mistakes I’ve made, repair relationships, escape from demons. This pen never judges but allows me the freedom to be just who I was meant to be.