Creativity seemed to run through them like a fast moving river.  Everyone except for him of course. He didn’t have a creative bone in his body.  We didn’t care though, we spread color and glitter everywhere . He hated it but our spirits were strong so we carried on.

Blocks of clay turned into sculptures in the afternoon,  paper angels, funny doodle characters that only we understood. Made up songs and poems. Romps through the woods and down to the river. Painted rocks and friendship bracelets.

But It wasn’t all glue paint and paper…

We did have our fair share of tragedy and heartache. The looming tension, the disapproval, the distrust and suspicion. Like a tree that doesn’t bend with the wind it is eventually going to break. It all came falling to the ground with a loud crash.

Survival… making up for lost time and numbness . Those years were a blur.

Creativity doesn’t just disappear. It may lay dormant but like that best friend you haven’t seen in a while everything falls right back into place like a warm sweeter on a chilly day.

For some creativity was let back in but others it was a luxury that they couldn’t afford or wouldn’t allow. They wouldn’t allow the freedom and the joy to come back into their lives. It was an impossibility to imagine.

I myself have found joy and a spark for life again. I have something special just for me and a  way to be free and express myself. Like I did as a child when I made up songs while playing outside.

Dearly beloved ones I will create for you and in memory of you I will create. I will be the muse that you never had and the canvas that you never touched for you and me I will create.