I am splattered and splintered with color. I am a pen of colored ink telling a story for others to hear, but not the whole story. You haven’t heard it all, some things are private.
I am the paper flowers where the butterflies live and receive the nectar nourishment of my inner self.
I am the filigreed stepping stones made of hay. Looking up at the stories lived and the patterns that repeat themselves beautifully; and the patterns that have stopped repeating themselves for a healthier body, mind and spirit.