How sweet are your words to my taste. ~Psalm 103
I have been a treasure finder all my life. I’m semi-addicted to garage sales. I say semi because I have really cut back to only stopping at the ones I happen upon. I used to search the paper, set up a map in the order of the most promising sales and then get to the sale first if at all possible. I’d come home with beautiful treasures that I decorated my home with. The only “new bought” furniture in my house is a dining room set--new from a discount Amish outlet.
When I walk the beach I am always looking for treasure, and I usually find it. I find sharks' teeth or a friendship circle stone or a finely sculpted piece of driftwood that I make into a wreath, or a tree. I also bring home multicolored pieces of beach glass that I make into jewelry, hats, purses, or dresser jars.
When I hike, I find stones, flowers, or four-leaf clovers. In the winter, I watch for perfect snowflakes to land on my dark coat. I love every season because each one holds its own treasure. Like the trees that have been outlined in snow, or a flock of robins announcing the coming of spring, or the bullfrog's song singing me to sleep.
I guess that’s why I am a writer. I love the promise and possibility of words. You start out with the glimmer of an idea. By working with the words there is a possibility of something wonderful. Typing, editing, rereading, adding more words, and taking some words away, you start to see a promise. And then the words flow and take on a life of their own, until finally there before you is a treasure: a real treasure that will live on beyond any thrift store buy.