Sometimes, I like to wander.

Most of the time, I prefer to drag someone along with me, with a convincing soliloquy about how much they will adore, said wandering.

Ever so often, my desire to see the beauty outweighs my fear of being alone with my own thoughts.

I feel alive and excited. I refuse to miss it (whatever ‘it’ is).

I grab the keys and head for the car.

I turn on a podcast or get caught up on Marco Polo, and I take the voices on my phone with me on my adventure.

Last April, I heard rumblings that the Ennis bluebonnets were magnificent.

I followed my maps to a road that was closed.

I had come too far to be thwarted by rusty old gates, so I turned right. My map didn’t have this road, and my connection began to fade.

I’m still not sure exactly where I was, but oh my word…

The reward for my adventure laid before me in yellows and reds and blues. It began to sprinkle, just for a few minutes, which woke up the flowers and stirred all the winged creatures. My silent adventure filled my heart.