I was born in the largest alpine valley in the world. I was raised in a desert with the brightest stars you’ve ever seen. I was well acquainted with winds that blew off the mountains and across the valley floor. I can still feel the prick of the cactus that made its way into my foot as I ran barefoot across the parched and powdered summer earth.

Now. Now I’m grown. Those years were too short and so full. I live far away from those cool silent desert nights. Life changes and thats okay I guess. But for now I think I’ll sink into a little reverie about then, when life was simple and my little child eyes were awed by mountains so tall, and windows of gold.

I sit down at my old wooden desk on my squeaky wooden chair. I think it’s a little bit sad to sit down and immerse myself in then. But it feels good to. It feels good to put the cactus on the canvas. It feels so beautiful to feel up the skies with my favorite colors. It feels like home as my brush trails across the canvas, creating familiar places.