This girl grows, every day. My body is purged, after adventuring and illness and adventuring through illness. That I find companionship, love and trust with women older than my mother and younger than my cousins, I am grateful. That my life experiences and intelligence allow me to converse with anyone, and draw from them their stories.
Sometimes I cry when at art galleries, feel others' pain when looking at their street art, understand souls completely when watching them speak. I love to hear the laughter of women. The way they laugh when without the men-folk, when a week together provides that temporary bond that is women's business, then return to busy lives.
I will walk my life, observing the stratigraphic changes in roadside cutaways, thanking the plants for the beauty food and materials they provide me, collecting seeds, beach combing, making daisy chains, ever grateful for the occasional company of the souls who enter my world. I must learn to live as an artist, for I am, and I must not allow my emotions to get in the way of that life. I must learn that for every yes, there is a no. I must grow, still more, every day.