The space always is and in this space I am.* I breath this air surrounding me, holding tight to my soul energy Living in my head with my fantasies. Advertisements
Flaunting my stripped being thoughts spilling forth, haunting molten metaphors erupting exploding from my heart without warning
Here in my garden, there is peace; there is a quiet stillness. I sit, with pencil and stark white paper, writing. Baring my naked soul for all who read to see. My sorrows, my hopes, my dreams, my downfalls. A butterfly flutters by, landing…
A little over a year ago, I left my career. I had a high pressure position that demanded a great deal of my time. My travel was extensive and the only times I was alone was in a hotel room. I used those moments…
Scribing thoughts in pale candlelight shadows dancing across the page passionate dark mysteries unraveling Is it my muse or my wise old sage?
Being left-handed, I worked hard at writing well. A memory: First grade, a substitute teacher for the day. A regular elementary school in Houston, Texas. But that day I learned I was a spawn of the devil because I wrote with my left hand….
To this resting place erratic journeys taken