My Journal

I helped my mother with some dress mending this morning. We fixed spots that were in need of reinforced seams, then added additional fabric and embroidery to worn areas. I always enjoy that task, as it seems the dresses end up even more beautiful than before. I think because by the time they're in need of repair, I've gotten to know them well, and can better decide how to enhance their beauty. We talked as we worked, sharing experiences each dress had seen and stitching our hopes and dreams into the garments.

As we were putting away our supplies, my mother stopped and watched me for a moment, then left the room. When she returned, she was carrying something wrapped in a piece of cloth. She handed me the bundle. "I had thought to wait to give this to you until the winter feast, but I think I should give it to you now."

I unfolded the cloth to find a beautiful journal. The cover was white with golden embroidered leaves and flowers, and the white pages were crisp and new, waiting to be filled with thoughts and stories from my pen.

Mother was smiling gently when I looked back up at her. "My beautiful daughter has grown even lovelier in spirit with time. Thank you for sharing your dreams with me. I know how much you love to write them as well, so I wanted you to have a thing of beauty in which to record your heart."

I embraced her and spoke of the journals perfection. Her smiles showed how pleased she was at my delight. She knows me well. She also knew I needed a new journal, for I filled my last one, and it could not hold another word.

I hope to record here stories, songs, and poetry, along with descriptions of my life. Writing is freedom. It can free my heart and mind of troubles, for often writing seems to release me of any burdens, and make my heart light again.

I hear my mother calling me for the midday meal, so I must set my journal aside. It will not be left for long though, and I hope to write in it very often. I have many places I love to sit and write, but I think of things to write no matter where I am, and often find inspiration in the most unlikely places. I have so many things I want to write about, I do not think my pen will be still for long. I must go eat now, for I hear my mother calling again. I did not mean to keep her waiting so long, it is just so hard to stop writing!