Blowing off the dust

It is thick, this layer of dust on my mostly abandoned blog, with seasons and changes, days and years...gone without written proof that the moments that peppered them existed at all.  Or that I did.  Why I let that happen has surprised me in some widening splinter of recognition every day.  Summer splendor and winter weariness, year to year, mostly gone –– little pen to paper in that private world of a journal or public view of a blog, started and then left to dangle.  Shouldn’t that be a writer’s milk?  When I think of all the

These Four Walls

We work hard at constructing our own four walls, and then we either ignore them and all the sanctity they might give us or we allow ourselves to feel imprisoned by them. Or we remake them, adorning a few

Connect…how?

A sense of connection -- whether to another person, a time, a place, an idea -- is as important as water, food, sex, and sleep.  Even hermits, loners, or those antisocial family members no one quite understands need to feel connected to someone or something.  We read and write, paint and sing, make