Woven Together

Taking pictures of wildflowers at Versailles.

If I could tell eighteen year old me one thing it would be: yes, dreams are big, and sometimes they seem impossible, but with God, anything is possible. This is a poem I wrote almost 10 years ago:

My dreams are so big
that sometimes they come spilling out-
and beg to find a comfy nook to curl up in.
Nice and warm,
a lovely place for waiting until the day
that I can actually allow them to take root in my mind-
twisting and winding round the edges of my consciousness.

But until that day-
I'll package them up,
in the familiar pages of a well-worn book.
Where they shall be kept nice and safe,
their magic strengthened by far-off adventures
in Wonderland, Pemberly, & Neverland.

And on particularly dreary days-
when I chance to look upon them,
they shall see
that we are woven together
like the notes of a perfect aria,
which is more than Alice, Lizzie, or Peter 
could ever wish for.