There is a pleasure in the pathless woods; / There is a rapture on the lonely shore; / There is society, where none intrudes, / By the deep sea, and music in its roar; / I love not man the less, but Nature more... / - Lord Byron
I think the key to truly enjoyable blogging lies in the ability to tell and convey stories. And I'll be honest with you. I'm a lousy story teller. I forget the important details, tell the middle before the beginning and bumble and pause through the whole thing. But maybe, its not the way you tell it, maybe its the way you live it. Maybe its the way not even the best camera could capture the look in someones eyes when they realize that they are loved and accepted. Or the way it feels to throw paint at paper because art doesn't always have to have rules. Stories are told through bellies that ache with laughter, stories are lived through tears and through cold rocks, bright stars, smoky haze and warm bodies. Our bodies are etched with our stories. That fresh scar above your knee, that old one on your cheek. Maybe we just don't look hard enough for each others stories, too often expecting to be told, not asking enough, observing only the surface. And if someone gifts you with their story, do we really listen? Are we too busy pushing our own agenda to really allow ourself to submerge in the story?
This summer was one filled with stories. Stories that were hard to hear, stories with no answers and beautiful stories.Some stories were told, some were read, some were the greatest stories ever to be told and many stories were written. Lived.