As a writer, I write in order to bring hope and light to readers. I write from a place that no one else can, and yes, that’s true for everyone. I read stories and can’t help but think about how the writer constructed them. I experience people and places and consider the various story lines that might come from them.
I see the little house finch on my feeder and wonder what he could reveal from his travels and his tiny little bird’s eye view. And when he ducks into the lilac bushes, what magical world is unfolding there?
At the dance on Saturday night, there was a lovely couple who danced almost every dance together, but who were also open to dancing with others. They were a grandmother and grandson and it was such grace to see into their world of love. She wanted to be sure he knew how to dance, and he was all long legs and willingness. And as the evening slid from dance-to-dance, he began to count the beats less and find his rhythm. His smile told a story to be sure.