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.