The Boss: 4-10yrs old

As a wee little thing I had this strange habit of believing that I was the maestro of everything.  The beach was my backstage, the ocean, my muse.  I would stand on the tallest rock and precede to gentle that whishy washy salt water into symphonic glory.  I would gesticulate wildly so that ocean knew I meant business.  That water would be tamed!  Tamed and then molded into a performance fit only for a king.  When I grew bored of that I would throw a rope around the moon and make it walk around with me.  I held sway of all things tidal and ethereal.

My fantasy world was like Narnia, A Wrinkle in Time, and the Little Prince, combined.  I would write elaborate plays and act all of the parts, simultaneously.   I thought I was a genius.  A more trained eye would probably have diagnosed schizophrenia.

Now that I am grown, I know that the ocean answers to no one and the moon is beyond tether.  But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that the sea still shows me respect and the moon follows me everywhere I go.desert

 

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