Personal observations as I look at life leaving bread crumbs to provoke, prod and ask myself and others "what if?" and "what could be?" and "what is our calling?"
I have seen the yellow ribbons tied around trees to celebrate a homecoming. I have seen the parades and confetti fly to celebrate coming home. I have seen the native son and daughter return home and realize they never left. I have seen the widow and widower laid beside their partner and felt their kiss of joy for being home together again.
And though in comparison, it may appear small, to witness the homecoming of the creative spirit is a sacred sunrise. The return of the muse, the artist, the writer, the poet to their art, craft and heart is the fabric and texture of life itself. It is the mirror of life-the calling home to be who and what we are.
I have begun a path, though I know not where, to a journey’s end that is calling. Along the way I pause to absorb the metaphors and images of this life, which are so precious. Here you shall find me brave, you shall find me pondering, you shall find me searching, and you shall find me collecting the images and metaphors like shells upon the beach. I am very much like the little monkey wearing a dapper hat, playing the cymbals and drum and dancing a jig. I do not have it all figured out, I may be learning to write, but one thing I do know and that is how to collect the shells on the beach of my beloved Gulf Shores. I offer these shells to you.
