Who was I to question reality?
As the light fractured into its familiar colors, I questioned again.
I balanced my treaded foot on a granite surround, these words etched deep:
'It's not the size of the person in the fight, but the size of the fight in the person.'
This balancing act in a garden within a sanctuary became my new reality. A crossroads, a junction, a tightrope walk between the firm, enduring granite and the sodden grass of the everyday.
A sense of poetic inevitability washed over me as the words of my life - past and future - enveloped me with the comfort of bedrock and splintered light. How fitting that these words formed in prose, a passion from my youth now reignited, burning too bright to ignore. Were they my words, or those of a power greater than myself? The mystery lingers.
Is life a simple journey? Not in my experience.
This is my journey, told in prose.
