Writing about yours truly

Mary at Owlhaven is hosting a little contest based on some writing exercises, "I Am" and "I Am From".  I ran across this the other day and thought it would be fun.  I always feel a little weird, writing so much about myself, but who am I kidding? This website is about me. Here it is:

I Am

I am five feet eleven inches of vertical space, taller than most women but shorter than most trees. I am the woman who said "okay" when her husband proposed, and then laughed, the one who threw sand on the beach in joy, the woman across from my man at the fire, glowing with our secret future. I am wanted, I am captured, I am wearing white under a large tree on a sunny day beside a green lake, saying "Yes."

I am bare feet among jelly fish in clear warm waters, longing eyes reaching off the back of a rumbling train, watching the giant red sun in an Indian field, shoulders swaying on the back of an elephant, a camel, a rickshaw. I am lost in the Himalayas, walking all day until my feet are raw and I fear we will never be found. I am limp in the heat of a warm Thai rain, waiting for a bowl of noodles on the side of the road. I am standing under a waterfall, I am watching the stars in the desert. I am incense, I am smoke, I am jasmine scented air. I am tossed around the earth like ashes, little pieces of me lost in places I will not see again soon.

I am shared space; it will always be written in my heart that three other people have resided with me for a time, in my own space, the warmth of my body which has grown and nurtured three young wild things, given to me but not mine. I am a mother, needed in every waking moment, my hands are always touching a person needing to be touched. I am the midnight hours, I am giving water, cleaning sick children, going without sleep. I am panicked, not knowing whether I can do this again, night after night. I am doing it. I am chapped hands from washing dishes, bent over picking up toys, breaking up quarrels, I am exhaustion, I am dull from repetition, I am safe, I am blessed.

I am the quiet space between night and morning, opening up the day with a cup of coffee and a pen.  I am paint thrown onto a canvas, words wept onto a page, I am always longing, always seeking.  I am a camera, I am oils, acrylics, charcoal. I am dancing while I paint, I have never felt so free.  I am lonely, I am afraid, I am sad and away from my easel too often.

I am the young child who read for hours, the woman who sneaks a few chapters between lunch and nap time, the girl who told her brother and sister to "Go away, I'm reading." I am a loner surrounded by friends, I am helping, I am wanting to make you happy. I am stormy, emotional, I am too many words when I should be quiet, I am apologies.

I am from a proud gentle northern country, I am a girl who knows black ice and windchill well, chapped hands and lips and frozen toes, who knows Northern Lights and loons on lakes and prairies and forests with great wide space.

I am cupped hands, I am tossed like a flower, a well trodden street, I am known. I am hopeful, I am not alone, I am written on the palms of the hands of God, I am adopted, I am not afraid. I am loved.