I have come to the moment when being me, truly myself, needs to happen, and I don’t want to be in a remake of the life of Grandma Moses having not started until I am 78. I want my voice heard, my vision shared. And the bard in me needs to be set free to write what needs to be written, so that maybe my words will heal, and fortify, and inspire. I am quite sure that in another life, a long time ago, in an ancient land, I was a Druid, a Bard, and somehow, I brought that training with me to meld with an MFA. Once a poet, always a poet. I wasn’t a practicing poet in this lifetime for a long time. Too busy to let my truth out. Well, not any more. I lived in pre-Patrick Ireland, near the Boyne, and apparently, I have memory of that time. Ah! Near a river. Interesting! I have lived near or by rivers my whole life. I turn my head and, though the sun has set, I know the river is just over there. It is a river I had sought for a long time. When I first stepped foot on this property where I live (with another Druid, but that is a story for another day), I recognized this place as the vision I have had for many years.