When a story comes, the words fly from somewhere else
into your mind, & then somehow onto a page,
or out of your mouth.
Into your wings.
The story comes by it's own path, sometimes from so far off.
Even if you can't quite hear the words,
you can sense the gift of it.
I like the ones that spring from the earth,
the stories that have been hiding in faraway places
waiting for just this moment
to alight as birds.
