Piles of words and ideas,
sometimes ordered, sometimes messy,
guide me through a wilderness, along a path dimly seen at best.
One inukshuk leads to the next,
each barely visible from the last,
until I have traveled, with mind and keyboard, to my destination.
(be it story's end ... a pretty view ... or just a comfortable place to stay for the night)
Some of the inuksuit are mine alone,
others were built by vast teams (of books and friends and things I see driving),
once in place, their pull along a new trail is hard to resist.
These markers/guides/waypoints provide just enough ...
information about the trail, some vague indication of what is to come,
people and places I may meet along the way.
I never know everything about (or have a complete picture of) the stories I tell,
I don't want to, don't need to, in some essential way ... cannot,
it is for me to explore, discover, and then, finally, share the story.
Getting lost and wet and dirty and sore (and scared) along the way
is what makes it work (and worthwhile) ... for me.



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