Why I write.

I want to write, and write, and write, and write straight through the morning into the afternoon, and late into the night unfortunately bills are to be paid.  When walking my dog Fisher the early summer breeze writeand partly cloudy skies is refreshing stirring emotions, and remembrances of childhood summer and vacations.  I smile and have that deer caught in car headlights gaze wanting to write about how profound the experience.  Sometimes in unguarded moments I am called back to my Shangri-La in Michigan, the Keweenaw Peninsula.

Wishing to won a De Loren I would set the Flex Capacitor to 1844 when copper mining began here, to take in the atmosphere of mining, the ground trembling below my feet due to blasting out the rock, to gaze up at the giant shaft/rock-houses.  I would love to witness the birth of towns.

To see my father’s birthplace, Atlantic Mine just south of Houghton Michigan in it’s heyday with towering shaft-houses before shutdown in 1913.  Summer vacations here when young intoxicated me breathing the “purest most vitalizing air on earth” walking atop ancient rock one can feel the age, watching freighters skim across the surface of The Big Shining Sea, Lake Superior.

This is why I want to write to uncork the desire, ecstasy, passion,, pride, Joy, love, melancholy,sympathy, warmth, and sadness inside to share this and more with the world, to leave a mark of some sort that I was around.writer

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