Lines:

I am born of a straight line, point a to point b

of New England coast, salty air, and
boggy marsh and sand that burns your feet in summer,
of rules and seriousness, and sitting in the backyard pondering,
of hitchhiking across the country
and skipping rocks and hopping boulders
I am born of a spiral, a patterned celebration of wild and of possibility,
of Colorful Colorado, looming mountains and snow crunching underfoot in winter
of defiance and a never ending chase for fun,
of planting seeds and growing flowers and staying
put to thrive and calm the wild side.
Of skipping down sidewalks and hopping on rooftops.
I was conceived in the desert.
That warm, dry dead place.
Where mother-nature uses weather as her medium to impose art upon her land
And the reds, yellows, browns, and oranges paint a picture of geologic time.
The shapes you see are not the ones you learn in geometry
and the colors fade into each other
blurring lines.
I... am a line, with curves and soft edges and a destination in mind