living with Indians
My father and I left home when I was just fifteen years old. My father remarried and I made a life of my own. By the time I was twenty three, I had travelled many miles and lived a thousand lives. My footprints are embedded in land across the globe. It is no wonder my head is spinning with tales to tell.
For some time, I lived amongst the Makah Indians in the wilds of the Pacific. It was here I fished amongst the great orcas in the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Bartering with the Indians became a way of life; a life, I knew was totally illegal. I soon began to change and looked at everything in a completely different way. One couldn’t help but to do this, especially as I was so young and already felt I had lived a lifetime.
I played my guitar in mountains more spectacular than those found in Switzerland (though I have been there also and they are indeed magnificent). I have done things perhaps I shouldn’t have done and risked my life a million times. My feet, though small, have worn out many shoes through trekking places less travelled. And my heart is engrained with enough stories to fill a thousand books. It’s no wonder I have little trouble finding tales to write for you on these dark evenings...but I do need to finish my books.
Remember, whatever it is you are longing to do you, writing a book, a different way of cooking, writing to friends you haven’t seen for ages, or painting, you must find a way to fit it into your life picture. It is as simple as that. You see, it is indeed later than you think!