It Does Not Escape Me

It does not escape me.

That I have sat in towers, and castles, abbeys and caves, upon beaches and city streets, to write.

I have sat where greater writers than I, have thought, and written.

I have stood where courageous men and women sacrificed their freedoms and their lives for their beliefs.

I have traveled roads that have taken me to places I have read about in history books.  Books that I sought out to learn about that very history.  I have stepped out of the car, and into my imagination, to try and feel or see what that history must have looked like…back when it was not history.  But their truth.  I have stood staring….to see what they must have seen.

I have breathed the air that incites passion in a man’s soul.

It does not escape me.  Tonight, as I sat at a large and heavy wooden table, with a pot of tea at my finger tips, a castle just there….in front of me.  A river lazily lying nearly at my feet.  No.  It does not escape me.  That I am right here.

Here.

Here.