Into the Woods
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy-4o2K9lPiu6MaymkxFrZI5UZHhLWaIip6jR-B13jEPsE4r7OUYQi3CxDE6mPI-exuEd94qxkeI2BxJ68NTqkhtyUBCO6JstZueCh9j7IiG0miU5NRwzocA89JSYAQ5CjjbcesIbN1U2VrstZ-E4EhYzJJEE6CL1iU5nNfDdYj32Hjf7rlmQR6KZ1/w400-h290/Echoes%20from%20the%20Hallway%20(edited%20together)%20%C2%A9%20DTNoll%202-17%20%D7%93%D7%95%D7%A8%D7%95%D7%A0%D7%95%D7%9C.jpg)
Separated by the Rocky Mountain range of craggy peaks, I was forced to reinvent myself by the sheer fact that I was physically cut-off from my past; I had to rely upon the foundation that had been set down by ancestors who once had moved west. I moved east and landed in Colorado, then perched onto the foundation of a suburban home built the year I was born. There, I began to search for work … and three years in I began again to paint. After stints splinted with real estate, museum work, and cabinet making, I carved into my suburban home a woodworking studio for days and a painting studio by night. Hence, after tucking my freshly bathed jammy-clad boys into bed with a story read between lines, pages skipped in anticipation, and then with a parting kiss to the lips of my love, I disappeared down below the earth into a basement brightened with paint to light up dreams of doorways invented to ascend. I built there a tiny staircase with a curving rail up through a hole in the wall leading i