I've written my stories first chapters a long time ago; Before my children, before my husband. I didn't know enough to pick the right path, to choose the right journey. Now, I know. All I can do is look back on what I've done and what I should have done and move on, leaving that girl behind. My flesh tells my tale like the rings of a tree. I am still knitting my unfinished soul. I'm writing the chapters now that I'll keep; that I'll pass down to my grandchildren. The story of us.
With age comes wisdom. These words could not be more true today. As I age, my rose colored glasses fade and I push forward to clear the lenses.
My journey, now chosen and mapped, moves towards our home in Montana. With that comes freedom, freedom from society and it's hold on my family. Society doesn't care if I bleed and it sure doesn't care if I survive the wound. Ones story gets lost in the chatter, believe me.
The love that the blue eyes of my children and my husband reflect can't be seen by anyone but myself. I look around and I fall more and more in love with this life that we are building, dreaming, cultivating with our very own hands. I'll protect it with everything I've got and I count on appearing much bigger with my husband standing beside me.
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