Floating in eternity. In the cosmos of universes barely known and unknown, now and to come. No borders, no up or down, no beginning nor end. A continuing oneness and divergence. All that we barely know and never fully know. In perpetual synchrony. Out there and within me. Yearning for…

Cold morning, grey clouds. Dripping rain. Warm house. Coffee. Quiet jazz. Lighting softened by the lack of sun. House sounds more distinct, more present. Muffled car sounds swishing outside. Appreciating the clouds and rain. Keeping me and others in. There’s quietness in the air. Then on to the desk. Will…

They recently moved to another city late in their lives. Before moving they sifted through their priorities and needs. Considered why they should or should not move, it’s positives and challenges, versus staying in their current home and city. They knew that this kind of migration was a natural occurrence…

The storm rages. More so than ever, so it seems. With fury. Relentless intensity. It forces itself upon them. Swirls around and through them. Flinging them here and there. In a cacophony of yearnings, egos, and needs. The storm rages as they try to live with each other, while sometimes…

Early gray morning, driving quiet streets. Monotonous buildings. One after another, unending. Dull strings of parked cars, silent bland intersections. Jumbles of business signs. Alone, melancholy, placid life. Two baristas. Morning energy. Friendly “good morning”. Smiling. Even some genuineness it seems. Compelling my “good morning” in response. First words of the day. Appreciating, without realizing, their acknowledgement of my existence.

What shall I write? What can I write? In this early morning serenity and quiet. I notice my soft breath. My pen scratching random words on paper. Mundane and trite so far. Sharing dark coffee. Moving slightly about. In the dim morning light. Soft expressions. Inability, reluctance, to say much. Too…

I keep thinking of you. I’m looking at a Hollywood Bowl schedule and think of seeing the Silk Road Ensemble with you and R_____. Such a lovely time. I will hear a symphony piece and think of you sending me notices of online performances. …

I do not want to touch the binoculars, nor put them away, since arriving home. They are my father’s, who passed away about three and a half years ago. My mother gave them to me when I recently visited her. He used them primarily to watch birds in their wooded…

I want to write, but recently the words barely come forth. I want to craft thoughts into words, into sentences and paragraphs, if that’s where they take me. And maybe they’ll make sense, of some sort, to a reader. And to me months from now, if I’m brave enough to read them…