Who said artists are creators, sculptors who can move mountains and turn them into angels? How many tectonic plates have rubbed together, hurricanes, volcanic eruptions and floods were needed to create the few teeth in my mouth, my pelvic bone?

 

So you see, friends and fellow travelers, the story is a bit long, the questions intriguing, forever exciting and almost always for a moment of respite better asked than answered while holding a glass of wine from a nearby garden.

 

I am still reminded by this nagging internal voice (the one that never sleeps, never gets tired and never takes a vacation), after so many years and voyages to the little known parts of this Earth, how little I have seen and touched, how much more, so much more, remains to be felt, experienced, how the mountains I may have moved do not make me a vast ocean or a mighty river or even those beloved little creeks flowing for a million years over smooth shale and granite beds.

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You see, with all my energy, training and ability I know that water flows forever but we do not.