I'm ready to gallop, at least according to
Eric. I have an inner stallion that's been long reined in by my outer mouse. And this stallion is busting loose. No more timorous corner seeking, crumb consuming life for this steed.
But my legs have felt wobbly. Could they handle that first jump, the timid trepidatious one off the school track? Would they work? What would they do? Where would they go? Would they be useful? Would they could they do something worthwhile? And then, Andrea called inviting me and my legs to hop on over to
Green Mountain Orchards for a whirlwind two months. My legs gained strength. My spirits buoyed.
But, the harvest wound down. And the wondering set in. What now?
Beating back the encroaching forest has always helped me think straight. The buckthorn stood waiting. I took it on. Armed with the Darrow's weed whacker, large swaths of it disappeared. I whacked my way through November gathering courage, collecting support and widening my path. A path wide enough for the
Happy Hearts Fund,
The Carle, The Latchis Oscar Red Carpet fundraiser, and finally
writing.
This morning when I made my way down to the living room by the gray rays
of the moon, I noticed my clogs were set carefully on their sides, in a running stride. Funny, I thought (unmistakably Moose's
handiwork). A message? Yes, and it's clear. My legs and I are off, at a
gallop.
