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delaine miller
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I wanted to be a story teller when I was growing up. Every thing I saw was a beautiful story even the bad and the ugly. Now, as I age those stories they are leaving me. Ones I never thought I could forget even a tiny detail. Maybe it because there are too many, so some must find another mine to slumber within.
As I become familiar with middle age, my stories are of no real interest to anyone but myself. It is not the same as when I was too young to have tasted the full spoon. It will not be the same as when I am feeble and my thread is worn.
If I live long enough my stories will be fresh again, like a new born babe. Everyone will want to hold and touch them, The stories will smell newly interesting and full of life. They will come from far off, sit at my feet and ask me to tell more! The same ones that roll their eyes if I hum to the radio today.
So I will tell my stories to my self, and tell my grand children I grew up to be a story teller, That I think would make me happy. That would make me feel as if my dreams had come true.
delaine's Genres: Life stories and skills
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