Pearl Harbor or My Waterloo?

 

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For as long as I can remember the events of WWII have always seemed especially vivid to me.  Even as I child, I would dream about WWII.  An especially vivid dream found me swimming in the English Channel.  The sound of explosions is deafening.  Atop the water, the oil from downed planes fuels flames of fire that cut into a dark, hellish sky.  I swim because my life depends upon it.  Giving in, giving up is not an option.  As I swim, my tears trace jagged lines through the soot on my cheeks.  All innocence is dead.

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I am the person behind the words printed here. I write because my heart will not allow me the option of NOT writing. It has taken me half a life time to discover this basic truth, but now that I have, writing is as natural as breathing. This is where my breath takes the form of words.

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The Miracle Morning: The Not-So-Obvious Secret Guaranteed to Transform Your Life (Before 8AM)
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