July 22, 2018
Time passes differently now. No longer is it measured by hands on a clock, primarily, in minutes, hours or days. But instead by rising and falling levels of the creek, by
yellowing edges of the budding corn crops, by the degree of warmth or chill carried by the breeze. A subtle deterioration of youth from the body.
A life of eras, comprised of chapters in a book. What once began as an idea and exploration begins to take on a more complete and detailed image of what it may be b e c o m i n g .
The pen, though, lies in the hand of the author.
Our Recent Posts
March 9, 2019
I wish you were here, my love
Staring at the empty space above
As above below, I sleep with doors and windows open
room beside me
When I wake I am passing time
in the mirror I watch as it all goes by
before my eyes
In my memory there’s photographs
of a young, go...
January 19, 2019
Existing in the space between two destinations,
like a layover in an airport terminal,
untethered from the surrounding chaos.
Moving parts coalesce in...
I'm busy working on my blog posts. Watch this space!