A Post Card from the mind of Jamie Lee

Greetings my dear friends,

I am writing this post card from inside the mind of Jamie Lee. I whisper because I don’t want her to catch me in here taking notes and snapping pictures. What I see around me is an odd and terrifyingly beautiful landscape of deep, rolling valleys and high mountain peaks. At the moment it is as crisp and still as the Alaskan tundra, although beneath my feet I feel tremors and hear a low, thrumming sound, like a slow pow wow drum. I know from experience that this is a fragile environment. Her mind is a wild and sometimes frightening place to be. One wrong move, a single loud sound could start an avalanche of fear and doubt tumbling down from those high peaks like an avalanche.

Off to my right is the forest of her ideas. Birds sing melodic sounds, ideas fly like bats and ravens each night and some are impossible to capture—elusive creatures that scurry behind the trees and hide. The forest itself is dense, each tree competing for space and light. Some stand tall and strong—others are spindly and weak.

Wait, something down there in the valley catches my eye. I walk, softly, softly down into the cool shade of the valley. A river flows through. In its depths are the things that swim through her mind; feelings, love, desire, creative urges that sometimes rush though whitewater and sometimes pool into deep lakes swimming with life. Occasionally, the pools freeze over like winter ponds and she hibernates until the sun returns to melt the ice.

All in all, it is a nice place to be. I could spend my years in a place like this, build a little cabin, grow a berry garden, raise some chickens—if she would only agree to let me live in peace.

Or open her mind and let me out.

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