My words are thrown like stones hitting a wall. They penetrate nothing. They fall to the ground in a pile of rubble. Not even the dust is able to rise around them.

Why do I continue to reach for another stone? Why can I not be released back into the lake of complacency where I was first ensnared? Why must the words be pulled like a child being ripped from a mother's womb? They breathe life and then they must be nursed. They are imperfect. They are demanding. They will ultimately control me.

Have mercy on me. I live in the abyss of mediocrity. This I know. And this I cannot endure.

I reach for another lovely stone...

Saturday, January 30, 2010


Isn't it strange how moonlight on snow creates a sense of loneliness, no matter how beautiful it may be....

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