A {short} story

“Mother says that when I start talking, I never know when to stop…” But I would counter that talking is more productive than the silence. My words, yes, may be an impulsive sloo of tangles, in the beginning-but that’s just the beginning. I like to think that my voice journeys into heart, like a search light, beaming into the undeveloped, the unexposed, the darkness. If darkness is never shone light there is no chance of seeing. Seeing the violent crash of waves upon a frothy cape cod shore, or the first breath of life, a new born color conceived by love. I speak because I want to know the spectrum of life’s offerings. I speak because I enjoy the crisp bite of creation. 

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