I suppose it’s the recapturing of youth. The fear of anything sharp in the grass was far outweighed by the release of winter toes into the cool dew of spring. Socked and booted for months, to be set free in this sea of potential green was an exhilaration that could only be described as the combination of hope and joy — (either alone are fantastic, but laid out together, as a welcome mat, was beyond our wildest dreams.)

I can’t blame winter anymore, it’s often just my own fear that keeps my heart socked and booted. And it’s not Dorothy’s red shoes that I dream of, but the carefree nature of barefooting. To dare all that lies ahead with hope and joy, with a wiggling and release that says, I still believe.

So I bring them to life on canvas. And match them, toe for toe, hope for hope, joy for joy. And one way or another, I am not going to simply wiggle, I am going to fly.