This is the last one from the binder of last summer. Most of it, anyway.
Once I was a poet. Once I was a painter, an artist, a potter. Once I was a singer-soloist-soprano. An actress, once, an activist. Once religious, once atheist. Once I refused to take a picture with my brothers on a mountain, for fear of the edge and of them. Once I was a pianist, once I played flute. Once, for ever so brief a time, I studied violin. Once I was a ten-year-old programmer. Once I was a Sleuth. Twice I was Big Bird, once a dragonslayer. Once I was kissed by a kindergarten classmate. Once I thought I’d believe anything for a boy. Once I was a fool. (Maybe I still am.) Once I climbed three pitches on slick rock in West Virginia. Once I hiked seventeen miles in two days, two miles up in the middle of November. Once I was an outside defender. Once I backpacked for three days in Kentucky. Once I rode a horse in the New Zealand countryside. Once I was the smartest girl in the class. Once I invented a written code. Once I was many things.