Upon Migrating Geese I Sit

     For as long as I can remember, I have always sat in the lotus position. Long before the miles of running and arthritis left their calling cards in my knees and made what was a choice, a necessity, I never dangled my legs down from a chair. My friends say I have to ‘fold up’ and they are ever attentive in public places, like restaurants, to make sure the seating will allow me to ‘fold up.’
     I think it is a fair assumption to make that people, like myself, who write blogs feel a passion to write and express themselves with words. There is a need to release, to share, to celebrate and connect with others. We speak with our words. Writing is just another form of sign language. We speak with our hands. Our voice is in our hands.
     Sometimes, the only words of the heart that can be spoken are signed in silence. Webster and our hands, like my legs, fold up and disappear. I am getting wiser to their ways. What needs or wants desperately to be said has found a different voice to be heard. With legs neatly tucked in, eyes closed, one thumb tracing the life line of the other hand, and a slight tilt of the head I sit.
     Sometimes, the only inks available are the footprints left by the heart’s silent dance. Tomorrow, perhaps, there will be paper. Either way, my heart has spoken. Like the migrating geese, whose call I hear but I cannot see, my words will find their way to where they belong.