Call to Wander

Sometimes, one gets the call to wander. It might be the sunshine slanting through the windows, or it could be the rain dancing on the roof; it may be a simple song, a memory, a feeling. You get the urge to shod your feet—or not, as the case may be—and hit the streets, the sidewalks, the dirt trails, the pathless ways. You want to put soft grass under your feet, to feel rocks and sand and bark tearing at your hands, to taste crisp clean water and misty air. To find a secluded place and just observe…

Well, I do, anyway. I want to run and scream, to dance and swing, to climb and fall. The door to my imagination opens. I want to enter.

I want to see something new everyday, if only a new angle of the old. I want to wander, if only in my mind. I want to dine with adventure worn heroes in smoky taverns, swap stories with bards, share bread with beggars, train with knights, serve.

I want to write.

Maybe I'm just crazy, but I don't have time to dwell on that. Adventure calls, and I must  heed it.

Go mbeannaí Dia duit,
M. S.