Sometimes the wind blew hard enough that I could sing as loud as I wanted.
My siblings and I called my mom a "worry wart." There was so much that she wouldn't let us do because she worried what might happen. Until I got near my teen years I wasn't even allowed to go outside without permission. Every once in a while she would yell my name, just to find out where I was. It's an eerie sensation, as an adult, to imagine I hear her call me.
When I started "pushing my boundaries" successfully, I would run up the hill behind our house (barefoot, of course). I kept at it until I could run to the first peak without stopping. There was an incredible view from there, facing west. I probably watched hundreds of sunsets from there. I felt like royalty, looking down on my little valley, out at the mountains, the colorful light show. Just me, my dog, the wind, and God.
I miss having that quiet, beautiful place to go and settle my thoughts. Anywhere I go here, there are people. Except my closet, and that's a bit cramped.
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