Mine Own.

When I am in the throes of editing and reliving painful past memories I am blessed to be able to hike above it all and look down on where I live, and escape. With the very last few chapters being finished it has been a ride of inexplicable emotion. I sometimes wonder if it was even me back then. The joy is in every current moment of life, the crunch of twigs underfoot, the birds singing their final song of the evening, descending the trail to type on my keyboard or leaf through a book. Pleasure can be found in the doing, if it is done right, if the intent is the focus and not the mechanics. The purity of the second I am in is heightened with a sense of gratitude for a chance at this voyage. What I make of it is mine own.