I loved that line. It resonated with me, with how I am feeling today. So those words became my writing prompt.
Yeah, I am not the fierce blast of fire or powerful winds. I am the stillness. I am the white sky, barely morning.
I am not the 18-wheeler, barreling down interstate 80, delivering crunchy snack foods to the bored and hungry. I am the bicycle, fat-tired and destined for the empty beach boardwalk, lapping waves, and the wide sky.
I am not the tiger, raging and ravenous. I am that kitten, mewling for momma, scrambling to nurse and a little shaky on my feet.
I am not the loud certainty, the shouting of truth and the demanding of an army. I am the woman in gray braids, by the side of the road in Honolulu, aside the rickety table upon which sit a dozen coconuts, straws poked in their tops, ready for sipping.
I am not the pinstriped suit. I am those pink doc martens, with furry pink coat.
I am not the bass. I am the ukulele.
I am not gale force. I am that warm breeze on your face when you are reading a book in the park. I am that moment you look up and notice the crab apple tree, the squirrel, the children’s laughter from far away.
I am not the “It girl,” not the headline, not the trophy, not the big gold cube in Central Park. I am the last blue gum ball in the supermarket machine by the automatic doors. I am the crumbled slip of paper you notice stuck to your shoe. The one that says, “Yes.”