If my life were a movie, I think they’d have a problem finding the coming of age part. I seem to find my feet and then lose track of them again. I don’t doubt that I do that on purpose in the same way that a three-year old loses her shoes, because she has no real reason to keep track of them.I have a use for my feet, but deep inside I don’t really want to keep them in charge. Finding my feet, knowing who I am seems so set and final. I can appreciate the value in that—roots and foundation, a steely structure on which others can rely. But . . .
Beaches don’t have feet. The world would be so much less without their shifting sands. And waves, even if you couldn’t see waves rolling, listening to them would still help calm the heart of one who’s feet left the ground when the rug was pulled out.
The sun can shine without two feet under it, and kites are carried on a wind that never stops to be upright.
I guess I’m more like one of them, a changing type. Maybe that’s why I'm always moving. When I’m dancing my whole body knows exactly who I am.
Some feet know dancing, more than standing. That’s the best that I can figure.
When my feet stop dancing, I'll sort the rest. Until then, I know I'm dancer.
Do I really need to know anything else?
—me strauss Letting me be
6 comments:
Lovely, Liz.
Perhaps you were born "of age?"
Yeah, Zilla,
And that age would be . . . about three, I think.
:)
Liz
Nope. You dont need to know anything else. Lovely post!
Thanks Sassy,
That's a nice thing for you to say.
smiles,
Liz
Isn't three the best, though? All pink pola-dots paired with yellow stripes and "I can do it myself!"
You do have point there. I think that's why every fairy tale is made with threes.
I'm giggling.
Thanks for that.
Liz
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