The words feel slippery today, as if they're a pat of butter sliding across a sizzling skillet. Take a fork and stab them, but they'll slide on past. The words seem to dissolve, leaving nothing more than an iridescent residue on my page--nothing I can build with. Nothing than even resembles a good idea. I … Continue reading Writing is Hard Work
Meditations
October Memory
The October colors have come to full display. Russet, ochre, lime, and amber. Misty morning fog hangs above the hills and sprinkles the windshield opaque, like a stained glass window, painted by nature, colored by time. Speeding through the fog and rain. Empty road. Full horizon, hilltops multipling to the edge of sight. A half … Continue reading October Memory
There is Hope in This
Seneca Lake. Motorcycle ride. Close my eyes and let the roar of the wind buffet away the fears, the tears, and the fright of the future. I uncurl my fingers and open them, palm wide, into the flow of the air as it rushes past. I let it untangle all of the strands I’ve been … Continue reading There is Hope in This
Happily Here and Now
If I could write you a love story, I would write of far away woods tucked into mountain folds and of twisting roads under autumn leaves. Brooks that babble down rocky ravines. And somewhere above the valley floor, a little cabin that is ours. I would wash away the worries and the grime, the cares … Continue reading Happily Here and Now
Seeking Prose 