If It Is To Be It Is Up To Me.

Early morning, back at the hospital, recovering, getting examined and passed for driving, looking out at the the park. The same park I looked at for my first 3 years of life while my father died of being a coal miner. The same park he looked at. The same park we went for remembrance day every year to lay a wreath for the sad and depressing Christmas to follow full of loss and Mom’s tears and poverty. The Sally Ann bringing the tree and the turkey, a few used toys, quickly discarded, along with Santa’s list.
Here is the library where I learned to read and escape. From Dr. Seuss to Steinbeck to Rodin, worlds opened.
Downstairs in this library I learned to draw the figure on Tues nights, too shy to look for very long. Too fascinated to look away.
Creating a new world’s new hope.
If it is to be it is up to me.

New worlds New Hope