King for a Day

I was born in the Allegheny mountain region and had a lot of freedom to explore nature's wonders as a young child. Later on, as a teenager, I was actually able to make sense out of the lessons that nature taught. Friends and I used to meander the gentle slopes of our valley and play simple games. One of our favorites was to see who could count the number of cows grazing in the lush pastures. I was always the quickest. The trick was to count the number of legs and divide by four. Seriously, it works.

The large number of corn fields were a virtual playground begging to play hide-and-go-seek. The crick flowing along the south end of the valley was too wide and too welcoming to resist the casual tire-fly and release. We worked hard and we played hard.

The seasons ebbed and flowed from springs awakening to winter's bold embrace. There was work on the farm from spring to autumn and work pulling logs for the local sawyers in the winter. You haven't lived until you have been chased by 20 feet of log chasing you like a hound with your scent down the hill so you can soundly pound it onto the stack at the bottom of the ridge. Those were bold times where we learned both our reach and our limitations.

Fast forward to life in the Army, the usual corporate rat race, gains and losses along the way and you pretty much have life in this crazy world of ours. It has always been my family and, as an ever-present undercurrent, my writing that has kept me focused on moving forward when the cosmos was desperately trying to convince me otherwise. Whenever I had the chance, I would find a space to be alone and begin working on this or that technique. Like an artist trying to get the canvas to cooperate with the brush, I began painting portraits with words. It has taken me some time, but I think I have finally crafted a style that presents a canvas that folks can enjoy reading. I hope you enjoy reading my literary shorts as much I have enjoyed writing them.