Thursday, July 9, 2009


We sat on a hill beneath shade trees overlooking the Hudson River, waiting. The clouds had diminished to a playful few chasing each other on the breeze. Scattered puffballs float lazily by. Powerboats cut large rippling V’s thru the sun-dimpled water below and robins fly from tree to tree in small circles of frenzy. It’s a magical place. A perfect day.

Everyone turns as the music begins. The photographers are click zipping away. Four beautiful women with perfect poise and light grace make their way down the steps and up the aisle between our groups. An adorable little couple who almost lose their way and have to be redirected trails them. Stopping haltingly near me she digs vivaciously into her basket and the boy grabs her elbow, leading her on amidst the falling petals. I glance at my friend the King, up there all alone but not for long. His eyes light up. I turn, rising to my feet with the rest.

She descends the stairs gracefully; hand on her Father’s arm. Enraptured we all stand as she slowly passes by. However beautiful her chosen ladies are and they are supremely so, the bride’s loveliness outshines them all. Adorned in twinkling white with a lacy long train whispering softly along behind her she proceeds confidently, violet bouquet clutched securely near.

Later when the holy man asks the final question of them both the day is strangely silent, as if the whole world hangs upon their answers. They look into each other’s eyes. They promise. They kiss. The crowd erupts into juvenile catcalls and appreciative applause and smiles and joyful tears.

Too quickly runs the rest of the day towards the finish. The toasts are stories of before, moving, heartfelt and hilarious. Contagious laughter spreads like fire. The near gloaming coaxes an almost full red moon into the sky. ‘One more drink!’ my friend the King says to me so I have a few one mores and garner a hug from the Queen. They’re glowing when I congratulate them.

Then I disappear into the darkness leaving the dwindling soiree’ behind but the music and merriment follow me back to my car and as I drive off I wonder why the memories last so much longer than the times spent creating them.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Pen and Ink

Writing is the hardest thing in the world to do, having an idea is easy.

Millions of people have billions of ideas every day I would imagine, little fleeting tufts of dandelion notions dancing around in the sunlight of their minds. Sometimes they fry or are blown away by the winds of change never to be seen again. I think that is a most horrible thing.

I often wonder where the lost ideas go, where they end up. Since manifested ideas are so easy to behold, does it not also make sense that somewhere there lies an enchanted land of forgotten thoughts?

It must be a terribly beautiful world, with strange winged creatures soaring through a multi-colored ever-darkening sunrise. Of course, no one ever sees it because of the damned mists that forever enshroud the place and the more intensely you search for it, the easier it eludes you.

I carry thought imprisoning tools with me in a daily futile attempt to limit the number of escapees. Some are indeed too quick for me while others are so disassociated or ridiculous that they make no sense at all. Sometimes they come back, (the most intrinsically absurd aspect of all lost and forgotten thoughts) traipsing uncertainly down the street and suddenly stumbling into me like an overly drunk friend looking for just one more. Ok, just one more.

More oft than not, the ideas that do make the long perilous journey from synapse to paper usually end up trapped in a folder and stuffed away at the bottom of a lonely trunk in a dusty corner of the room. A sad fate for any emerging fancy but, oh the electric joy that repeats and resounds throughout my being when I find that magical scrap of parchment that was once a forgotten thought.

. . . wait a minute, what was I talking about?

Monday, January 5, 2009

New Beginnings

How many have you promised yourself?

Is it enough to last the rest of your life?

Everytime our Sun pulls back the cover of night and smiles upon this little rock spinning endlessly thru the vastness of forever, another chance is given to us. These so called 'days' are merely yet another attempt of mankind to enslave and harness Time, which will never chide you for wasting it.

In truth, every second of every day is change. We breathe, multiply, meditate, move and dream constantly changing our surroundings. The only question is; 'What have you left undone?'