Solitude May Rust Your Words.

I’m Restless. Things Are Calling Me Away. My Hair Is Being Pulled By The Stars Again.

Write. Write Until It Stops Hurting.

Descendants Of Pigeons Once Fed By Keats, Byron, George Sand, Chopin And Many Other Famous Lovers Are Still Being Fed, And The Sudden Sound When They All Rise Together, Frightened Away, Is Like The Sound Of Giant Sails Flapping.

Life Is What We Make It, Always Has Been, Always Will Be...including Our Perception. Of It

Tranquillity Is Contagious, Peace Is Contagious. One Only Thinks Of The Contagiousness Of Illness, But There Is The Contagion Of Serenity And Joy.