The Sun,

The sky breaks open. Light streams through brilliant and bright. Each ray has an end. Each end moves upon the surface of the earth, the trees, the grass, and sea. Not a soul moves and a second is two and and hour is gone. Shadows fall and lean to reach the ground. Each shadow finds form, yet light is seemingly untamed. Spin the globe and slowly reach the eyes of all, the sun. It is a common thread of all people.

Real...

I once lived on an old wooden boat, moored up against The Sound, a block away from old town.
The night air was cool. I stoked up the fire in the old wood stove and uncorked a bottle of wine. One by one, friends would arrive and hunker down in the holds of the boat. Brass and wood and stained glass windowed doors gathered round as we began to tell stories and sing, share art, ideas, and remember. Smiles came to our lips and looks filled our eyes as comradery was ours.
We left arm in arm. Walked across the way. An Irish pub and dancing. Nights were full. Life was connected.
Recently...
Another connection. A few new friends, good conversation, encouragement, shared meals and creative space. Uniquely part of an active whole.


The blog is foreign. Unfamiliar. A typing of words, sent out along the coolness of space.
These posts are true, not contrived. Genuine expressions of life.
The blog will continue, but nothing compares to just being in good company.


I am a romantic. There is a connection when I see the color of your eyes. Hear the uniqueness of your voice, see your lips move to the song in your soul.


Without you, the uniqueness of your expression is unknown.

Beginnings...

So, where is this all leading?

Poetry, prose, stream of consciousness, story.

Story. There will be story, a rendering.

Many people have asked me to write my story.

These early entrees are a prelude, the beginning of my true writing experience.

The lyrical foundation on which the story will build. The adventure has begun...

Whisper the winds...

Whispering winds and echoing ears, to far away shores to far away years.

Now is the time, we're running to sea.

Whisper the winds and echo to me.

I've seen the horse wild and free, running strong through the night.

I've seen the poor child, now she rides free.

Whispering winds and echoing ears, to far away shores to far away years.

Now is the time, we're running to sea.

Whisper the wind and echo to me.

Anticipation...

Winding through the endless meadow, she ran abandoned. Flowing white and feverish, she moved. Anticipation was her guide and her heart swept away the lingering mist. Willows whispered in the woods as her feet flew along the path. Upon her love she will not faint nor falter. Flow on feverish soul. Find the embrace that waits for you alone.

Welcome morning...

Oh won't you come and take my hand, in the morning, in the evening, in the middle of the day...

Spin orbit moon light up the night. Awake the sun, chase darkness away.

Kindness and bliss...

I longed for the ears of the gentle, for sights and sounds of kindness and bliss...

She came, bold as the night sky and luminous as the moonlight sea.

For many nights did I but find none other then to write and walk and sing and bring to mind the beauty of a maidens shore and nestled in the forest deep to mingle in my mind the finest kind of mystery blind and bold and fearing not.

Truth based fiction...

Once there was a maiden who lived in a fortress of wood and stone. The fortress stood on a knoll partly surrounded by giant trees and weeping willows. The maiden was far content to remain in the comfort of her fortress and rarely was she seen outside its sturdy gates. She was in the company of her own flesh and blood and from time to time they strolled through the meadow green to the rivers edge.

One day the maiden felt less than merry within the stony walls and her countenance was low. She pondered on all she read from the books that lined her walls and sat by her bed. Just then a ray of light shot through a space in the stone. She stood and shielded her eyes from the piercing light. The ray caught hold of the corners of a piece of twisted vine that was sitting near her bed. She circled the room and came near to a basin filled with still blue water. She leaned down and placed her hand in the coolness. Lifting a small amount to her mouth she breathed it in like life itself as she looked over her shoulder to see the bright unchanging ray of glowing light. As she turned to place her hands again in the gleaming water she noticed the light as it hit the wall beyond the wood. Coming near to that place she followed the outlines of light on the wall. She looked at the ancient vine and once again remembered that which made her bring it in from the waters edge. It looked as though it had been carved but not by knife or stone but by the shimmering river itself. The memory flooded back...

Kneeling by the shore, she placed her hand in the soft sand and felt the curve and shape of vine. Washing it in the cool flow, she held it in her hands and closed her eyes and mysteriously felt more content then all the days inside the thick fortress walls.

She traced the outlines of the light as it separated from shadow. l..o..v..e...

The word flowed from her lips as the ray of light slipped back through the stone. She ran to the wall and placed her hand across the gap in stone. Warmth seemed to radiate through her hand. She placed her cheek against the stone and looked across to see the twisted vine. It was love...

Is there a love that pursues with thundering hooves and strides of spirit?

Will she ride with passion and kindness and in humility display her striking beauty? Is she fair and is she warm?

With honor she reaches her love, her deepest friend, her kindest comrade.

Seems like a dream...

Seems like a dream, those days not long since past. Now I feel the tingling skin and cool salt spray as nights spent on beaches and waves crashing too close to the old valiant wagon, my home...

Mentors and muse

I never wrote a word until...

With bike and boat I went. A small wooden craft perched upon my small French car with mountain bike a cherry. A sight to see, my float and me, as I board the ship for distant shores.

I met some friends, an artist he and woman she, I stayed there in their family's keep, while went they did away. Serene I found a artist home, and wanting not of outside bid. Till upon return of new found mentor friends a home to find, I did.

The shore was fair a friend to call me to it's side. So found, did I, a larger keep on wheels, to suit my need and rest upon the shore.

"Old Log, Old Log." I called my keep, the 60's Volvo wagon valiant green. To work I went, and to the woods each day I rode alone and in the evening dark my feet did tread upon the forest floor. For many hours and more miles did I but sit and stroll and ponder on the wonder of the woods and dripping from the trees a mist that only morning sparrows find.

For in the depth of woods, and keeping up till morning sun does rise, by candle light, did I but write of mystery deep, till I exhausted fell asleep.

Admit One:

I decided not to wait till the world was perfect and I had my favorite pen in hand to give way to the sirens. Even now my handwriting takes no care.

So to your eyes alone...let these things be known...thoughts, pictures, poems, sayings, and verse.

May you find them as gifts, no dangling strings. Just hurled from my world to yours. Sit and listen, open and find, but by all means freely enjoy the beauty that is mine.

In just minutes begins the day.

Words set in motion...