Love of Words

Some ask why I do what I do? Where do I get my need to right in prose and poetry? What is the use of writing if I will never get rich? The real question is,When did I find my love of words?

I think I first picked up a pen at a very early age. Mom said I could read and write,a good bit for my age,before I started school. Along with counting to a hundred. Both English an math fast became my favorite subjects.

Being a child with five brothers and five sisters all older then me. I most likely had plenty of teachers. I am sure while they sat doing there homework an moaning about it, I had my nose in there with my "What'cha doing's?" I know I was a serious pain in their escapades!!

My mothers "This little girl of mine" lullaby,and her beautiful voice gave words flight and colors of stars shinning in an evening air. And a warmth of a summer breeze. A softness like a gentle caress of the cheek. Even on a storm ravaged nights!

But I think It was a couple years later before I learned the true presence in words. How some words spoken seemed to hang in the air. Some words may brush with a gentleness of a soft breeze. While others slapped you in the face.
Some like thief's in the night,could carry you off to places you did not intend to go. Tearing at your very soul,an leave you empty,mistrustful,an hateful.
The horrid story behind that lesson I leave to another day.
Maybe another lens. And then I was nine!!
I have been writing in one form or another ever since.