It Started With A Blank Canvas

My life began as one big blank canvas, a sweet baby girl loved: the second child for my parents, yes, I had an older sister by one year; Suzanne, already had signs of an adventurer, while I just gurgled, smiled and made faces. Babyhood is fleeting, soon, I was a four year old and walking: my personality was beginning to blossom, quiet, shy, loving cats, the garden, and books, my sister, had no time for all that; we lost her on a snowy street, her death left a black mark on the canvas of my life. My grandma, Helena was our family storyteller, looking at me she would say, she has an old soul: grandma colored the canvas of my life with hues lovely, opening my imagination and a writer was born; I will never forget the words I spoke at her funeral. When I write of nature the tone is green with wildflowers bright, with strokes and swirls of birds soaring and water swirling: when I write of winter, my very soul opens, and in sad poems somber colors twirl and mingle; and my paint drips blood red onto my canvas, the love poems, I create are full of my love's aqua blue eyes. I am a butterfly, I am a bird, I am a writer, each day I add another color, another dimension; to the canvas of my life that started when I was born, no telling what the future holds but I know; it will be beautiful.