 I remember 7 as being a good year. It was 1972 and all seemed well in my world - safe in the little New England town where I grew up. I wasn't aware of the war that was being fought or the state of the economy. I was just a kid learning to ride a bike without training wheels. Days were filled with everything from catching frogs in the creek, making mud-pies and picking wildflowers, to playing the piano, painting with watercolors and tea parties. I was a tomboy who liked to play dress-up - gypsy style was my favorite. Climbing trees was my specialty. Scaling the sides of huge boulders was a cinch. I was fearless and curious. Living in a house in the middle of the woods made it easy. There was a whole imaginative world waiting for me right outside the back door. The bridge-like fort that was built across the creek was the pirate ship that my brothers and I played on. In winter, snow storms didn't stop us - we built igloos and became Eskimos. Fall led way to huge piles of leaves, which we flew into from the swing-set in the backyard, making us circus performers. I started journaling when I was 7, capturing the fantasies of faeries and elves who lived in the hollow trees; mysteries of summer nights with glowing eyes in the high branches and sparkling fireflies; the full moon snow storms - falling pixy dust; and the magical changing of the colors of the leaves in fall, painted by little forest creatures. It was the year my love for creating began. My imagination was turned on and the stories began to flow. I was happy most of the time. Seven was a good age to be. ~ Zushka Biros
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