She is a Writer.....

She sat on the boulder with her legs drawn up and tucked under her chin, holding them there with her hands clasping her forearms.

Thinking...(she does that a lot...and talks to herself in her mind too...she must be either deep or crazy...the jury is still out on that one)

Her mind never shuts down which is a mixed blessing (if you are a writer you already know what that is like). She takes her stories and tries them on, sees if they might fit in real life. Maybe she walks around in them for a time but there is a dissatisfaction that breaks through even when things seem as she hopes they will be.

There is an intensity when writing. It comes from places not many understand. Passion and the need to express it, born inside over time and through experiences, are part of who she is now...

Long ago a friend called her writing "words without walls." No past to define her to those who read what she writes, no future that has to be addressed. Just words that have to see light somewhere. Finding people, for a period of time, who think they may understand her through what she writes then disappearing to places inside of herself they couldn't begin to understand..

Sleep deprived is when her mind opens and the words free fall onto paper. She stopped analyzing where they come from in the dark quiet nights. Sentences begin to form and windows are opened for her to watch what she writes about...

There is nothing simple in anything she sees, no simple sunset or tree. Each thing she sees becomes a series of details and connecting them to complete a picture in words is the key. Does that mean she appreciates each picture as she paints it or does it take away from the joy that the picture could give by just being experienced?

She remembers always wanting to write but was so locked in by considering her audience first and always. Decades later she realized she could not look for the right audience and then write, readers would have to find her. It was that bit of light which freed her to finally "just" write. She had confused writing with publishing and was finally able to distinguish one from the other.

The options became limitless...

Memories to build on, dreams to expand upon that may imitate real life. Mixing past with present and future. Leaving someone to wonder which parts are her and which are just her imagination.

Her dream is happening in each detail she can explain...

She unfolds her legs, easing her feet down to touch the water. Instantly words start forming to describe the feeling of cold water touching the pads of her feet. Words coming together to explain just how it feels when the water starts to slip between her toes. More words to explain what her feet look like just below the surface of the water.

Someone else might just splash around without really thinking of spelling out a picture, feeling the freedom to point their toes up so they are chilled by air touching them. Someone else might never worry that it matters that another may have never felt the simple pleasure of dangling their feet while daydreaming of something apart from what they are experiencing.

A teacher, long ago, made her wish to write with a simple question that was to be a homework assignment.

The question?

"How would you describe the color blue to a blind person?"

She remembered trying to describe a clear blue sky, never considering that blue could be the cool water holding her feet at that moment.

And now, so many years later, she continues to define blue...and anything else her senses catch. On one hand she hopes to share what she has experienced with others but on the other hand...well...she is a writer...