Long, dark days alone
Habit well-practiced for years
My coffee brings cheer
Comfort
Heading Home
Winslow Homer 1893
Winter sun slides beneath the treeline, crosses the final lavender mile home with strips of deep purple, pale magenta. Neither warms this sub-zero trek. Progress marked by the flash of slender ski tips through new-fallen snow, my rasping breath through a strip of wool scarf. Continue reading
Decaf to Follow
In the sepulchral half-light, behind a fortress of tall paper stacks, the crackling tapping endures: Fast, slow, shuffle, sudden dry slap. Continue reading
Morning Song
Midnight river of earthy darkness tumbles into indigo coffee cup. It cuts the heavy silence of an empty house. A single tangelo, head snapped open, peel bent and bursting forth with the sharp scent of new ideas. I take my treasure out the front door. Continue reading
Valley of the Trolls 