Some Beach Some Where

Journal Entry 3/11/13. I ran away today in time in my mind. When the sun didn’t come, I sat back on the sheltered balcony and watched the clouds pour forth to wash fresh my world.

The steady din of rain upon the roof of this small place is a song, one of many that I love. The storm passes and I’m free to walk on.

All the sounds of life surround me: the wind rustling the long grasses, gulls flying low and calling to me hopeful for a crumb, and the surf, the ever-pounding surf.

The surf pushes and pulls me as I walk through its flow, shoes tied and slung across my shoulder, bare feet on sand leaving a fleeting imprint on the strand.

Lacuna, Hiatus, Break ends today

Friday February 15 - 10 days yesterday since my last post.  I just decided that I'd proven to myself what I needed to prove.  It started with the January 1 commitment to myself that I could write and post a blog every day for a year.  That I could write on demand without a thought in my head as to what that writing would contain.

I found poetry came easier than much else, and haiku demanded I be brief.  Some were successful, some banal, some just utilitarian.
Thing is I took a lesson from an on-line friend who used to have a blog called Mildly Creative.   He said it's okay to be mildly creative.

I read that and looked around and found what I already know. Not all that is published by anyone is all pure gold, some is mediocre, some down right bad.  It's okay to be mildly creative.  The thing is to continue creating.

I'm leaving the day job March 29, for my home office studio.  I've been planning, painting, drawing and writing (not blogging).
With this post, I'm back.  There'll be some poetry, some paintings and updates on my journey through this my 64th year.

• Three-page mini-website is up and I'm working on the full blown one.
• E-book on journaling and publishing from the pages of your journal is almost finished and I should launch it late March/early April.
• Poetry e-book is taking shape.
• Nostalgia essay under consideration at Victoria Magazine.
• More to come...

Which is the dream?

in dream I oft walk
familiar streets, halls, houses
dream more real than life.

I often wonder which is the reality of our life. Which is the real dream. Which is the real life. What does real really mean.

The yellow brick road beckons.

POV is everything

the wheel keeps turning
seen as fast or slow depends
if you're young or old.