A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
As my heart
Sings and Shouts to me
For the next path un-walked,
The next beauty to behold,
I find myself,
Enticed not by the landscape itself the most,
But by the stories it tells.
And not stories of how the dirt became grass and then became field,
But the stories of the people who had traveled there
And basked under the sun in those soft wisps of green
And who had turned that cliff not into just a hill but a city.
It is the story of the people that lures me in –
And the desire to become one of those stories myself
Just as they all are