Moving forward, as I cross the river heading down this winding road to that place beyond the pecan groves. Passing bare trees and barren fields, which has me think of Fall and the events that took place there one winter’s night, and knowing that the Fall...
Finding myself standing outside early one hot August evening in the middle of a heat wave, and being able to feel and see the heat rising in the still motionless air, as all the leaves droop and hang down. Looking to the far horizon and seeing that summer...
Sitting here once again at my favoured corner table with my back to the wall, and knowing that closing time is soon approaching and I should be leaving this place soon. Yet, I am comfortable and at ease knowing that part of the current nightmarish situati...
There are bars and saloons where the jukeboxes play the blues long into the night, as a peasant sits at the end of the bar crying in his glass of that pessimist wine that the autumn has eyes for. And I am sitting here at the bar with a madman, who’s telli...
Making my way down this trail that follows the shoreline as I feel the rain in my face and catch a scent of snow in the air,- I seem to hear the ghostly strains of a violin and cello being played in a slow haunting style that has my mind drift back. To th...
Sitting here one morning here in the “great white North”, as the temperature falls and hovers right above zero. As I think about an email slideshow I have gotten from an old friend who is back in the heat and blue skies of Southwest Texas,-Where the warm...
Sitting here upon a wooden chair at this corner table, with my back against the wall, able to see the door and all coming and going, and catching a brief glimpse of her in those shadows across this smoky room. As I lean back against the wall, both watchin...
One cold misty early morning heard a warning bourne in the air, in an age when, and in a place where no one seemed to have an hour to care or spare. As the days now seem to be growing shorter as well as colder instead of longer and warmer at this turning...
Bob Dylan wrote and did a song called: Rainy Day Women #12 & 39, And nowhere in his song is heard the words: Rainy day, women, 12, or 39. Finding myself waking at the break of day to a coffee scented morning here in Paris, propping myself up on an elbow u...
The phone call mentioned here really took place Sitting here one summer night and staring at the blinds after having hung up the phone. Thinking of the call from an old friend who had a question as the conversation turned to music and concerts we saw, and...
Sunday finds me in my usual pew awaiting the procession to the altar for the start of mass. As I notice a conversation taking place two or three rows in front of me, just like a scene from Schindler’s List. Which has me recall what they once told me about...
Standing here at the foot of these ancient worn stone steps, that lead up to those massive black iron doors of the gate that stands there. Flanked on both sides by walls having rough hewn images carved on them which have been nearly erased and blackened b...
When September Ends,- Walking here in the North Country Fair under grey skies with the temperature dropping to hover somewhere below zero. Walking down the hill that will take me to the “heart of downtown”, I can see across the sheet of ice that is the ha...
Nightsong,- Everything seems to have come crashing down and all things have now come face to face- After having been woken by a deep trembling in the earth beneath my feet that has shaken all the great foundations, as I see lightning strike out on the far...
Feeling at times as if I were on the run, and somewhere along the way the skies changed from blue to grey. Causing me to think back to those times and places that were left behind along with that West Texas skyline. Where lights shining up from the Missio...
