Little Bird

I feel like a migrating bird who yearly travels to one glorious spot and stays only a short time. All my instincts are with this travel. Each time my wings have grown out a bit more and my words and art are different in some yet unknown way. Today my breath catches when I think of the moment my art and I will see each other as we are. I cannot spill out my fears, cannot tell my hopes. The dignity of art must stand as it is.