Some people choose to see the ugliness in this world. The disarray. I choose to see the beauty. To believe there is an order to our days, a purpose.
I like to remember what my father taught me. That at one point or another, we were all new to this world.
We would bring the herd down off the mountain in the fall. Sometimes we would lose one along the way, and I’d worry over it. My father… My father would tell me that the steer would find its own way home. And, often as not, they did. Never occurred to me that we were bring them back for the slaughter.
They say that great beasts once roamed this world. As big as mountains. Yet all that’s left of them is bone and amber. Time undoes even the mightiest of creatures.
My whole life has been dictated by someone else. Someone who’s been saying, “You will.” And now, now I feel like I’ve discovered my own voice. And it says, “I may.”