Thursday, October 20, 2011

Clean Your Clock



The sharp breeze whisks the oblong golden parchments over the path in rapid succession as if they were lost souls beckoned by the Pied Piper from a faraway grave. Magically, like a spell cast by Miss Granger, Harry Potter's good friend, lifted and abolished only to be superseded by more of the same. A hot sun warms the cool breeze fervently while drying the ochre leaves as they torrent northward to an undisclosed location. Autumnal cleaning.

Monday, October 3, 2011

Hello Darkness My Old Friend



 Autumn is here.
 I find it disheartening and
 uncomfortable for the interior temperature to drop twenty degrees in one day; this is a first for me.

How is it at yours?

Cold Getting Old

Thursday, September 29, 2011


The drape of a silver-gray pall continues to hover over the peninsula. Rain pummeled the roof tops and asphalt for some minutes yesterday; after a very long period of anticipation that lasted many hours longer. The forecast: more of the same; tomorrow: generally sunny and more chances of a cloak of gray precipitation on Saturday. Will the weather qualify me to go up the river by Wednesday…

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

STRAIGHTEN UP AND FLY

I love the smell of iodine in the morning ; for that matter I love it in the afternoon, evening and all night ; I don’t want to be anywhere other than near the ocean. It is no wonder that the earth is made up of over seventy percent water. I could never be happy on Mars or Venus, although it pleases me to have them so near . I have been adaptable at times ; some of you would argue this point, you know who you are, but, your untruthiness be told , it was simply that your agendas and quotas were not being met ; often or not it was your unrealistic and distorted expectations driving you to pronounce me as inflexible. Any way I would like nothing more than to be compassionate toward those who would harm me, but, there are too many assholes passing on the right.

Vacation No Pay…



Another silver-gray pall lops over the peninsula. Traffic lollygags through intersections as if the weather had pushed a slow motion button. The humidity is oppressive. Philip Glass chimes, Definition, from speakers hovering somewhere around my knees; somehow appropriate to the overcast heavy, dull drape of an atmosphere. There will be no heading up the river on this murky sojourn. Push back the shroud before it drowns the heart.


Shut Up And Read

Monday, July 11, 2011



As the world turns,
 we do as well; 
moving from the past 
into the future... 
living in the present.