Why?

Why do I write?

Almost indescribable sense
of joy, of pure glee
--the Christmas morning look
seeing the tree
for the first time on a snowy morning.
--the expression on the face of a child
viewing the ocean for the first time
as they run across the sand to dip their toes
and imaginations into the froth.
--the proud demeanor of a mother
holding her newborn child, the feelings of love
wrapping the child
every bit as much as a cozy blanket.
That printed book is indeed much like a child.
I've seen and experienced the dissolving in tears,
the gentle caressing of a cover,
the knowing that I produced this.
The books that follow echo the joys of seeing
a child grow even as our skill does.
Moments, incised in memory
live again as they add to a story,
enhance a scene.
And then, others read and, perhaps, remember,
something along those same lines
and the moment goes on and on.