Browsing Category: Journal Pages

        I walk in from different point from road.  I cross a draw dividing ride and set up along a trail that runs with curve and lie of the other side in parallel with elevation.           I sit beside a tree that looks familiar—and there’s reason that it does.  Set up, I turn […]

               Days into a new year, I’ve yet to speak, write, or determine resolution.  Maybe change isn’t always what it’s sold to be, especially when it is for no reason or purpose beyond change itself.                 I am a few years in to a new computer, which I guess means it is no longer new, […]

               We rest in the kitchen in the morning light whose walls are cast in rainbow speckles of broken light through snowflake ornament of cut glass that hangs in eastern window through which sun shines.                It is quiet time, my mother-in-law and I, that we share often when I am east and her daughter, […]

        I went for a run again today.  This makes two days in a row, but this one I went alone.         My legs ached (and still do) unused to and atrophied from my period of complacence.  The cold air burned my lungs, or more my heart by feeling and place (and if […]

        I went for a run with my son today.  I couldn’t tell you how long it’s been.           I started with a bold statement, “I’m going to go get our teenagers into shape.”         Then I listened to myself, how ridiculous and untrue it was and fast-corrected, “No, I’m […]

        As a father, there is something I love of large family events when all our living generations gather together again: the idea and belief that some of the most special and important people in our lives have not come into our lives—not even created yet.         How cool is that? […]

        Unwinding and ending day, I smoke from bench and patio’s view.  Short sleeves, gift of an almost-summer day in heart of winter.  Not all miracles need be profound.  What matters is we see—and today was one.         Wind chimes blow and gift a song as I rest in my own silence.  Cigar is gone, […]

        That’s another thing about gifts: they’re for who they’re for and that’s the point, even if they mean little or nothing to anyone else.  They’re personal, and it’s the personal that makes the meaning.  You can’t buy that on shelves, find meaning in someone else’s marketing.  It’s from gifted to the gifted—expression of a value […]