Saturday, August 19, 2017


I found out today that I have to move yet again. The nomadic life finds me through time and space. I wonder what kind of nomad I was in past lives.

Wednesday, February 15, 2017


She practices violin
Sounds not quite sing songy
Cats are ambivalent of notes
Pacing like the bow 


This is not Braveheart’s Scotland
It is the misty filed that she and I walk
Hand in hand on cold winter mornings

The only heat being between our palms 

February 15, 2017