The Walkabout Diaries: Sunsets

Why so many pictures of sunsets?

They are all from one sunset.

People all over the world are awed and comforted by a beautiful sunset. It doesn’t matter where they live or what language they speak or how they believe the universe works.

That, in and of itself, should give us pause.

Before discussing differences, we need to focus first on what we have in common.

The second reason for all these pictures is that to remind us both that the sunset is not just a picture — it is a process. It is panoramic; it is colorful to look at and that’s what we typically do.

Nothing wrong with that.

But the sunset also *guilds* things in various ways — some obvious and some rather subtle.
Anyway, where you are, it might be too rainy for a nice sunset tonight. So, you’re welcome to imagine this one is all around you. I can’t make that happen with a few pictures, but you can, using your imagination. What the heck. Give it a try.

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

Happy Raven Angry Golfer

The Walkabout Diaries: Friends

The Walkabout Diaries: A Now Rose is a New Rose

The Walkabout Diaries: Racism is Absurd

The Walkabout Diaries Lest we Forget

The Walkabout Diaries: Life Will Find a Way

The Walkabout Diaries Jacob’s Coat

Author Page on Amazon

A different day’s sunset.

A sunset painted this.

Every sunset is somewhat different.

The picture, of course, is never so peaceful as being there. But a picture plus your imagination can be.

Siren Song


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Photo by Min Thein on

Listen to my siren song!

Everyone! Look over here! Look over here! 

I’ll say who makes your life so badly suck!

You need to know who takes your share.

No, no, NO! Don’t ever look over there! 

Don’t see the rich who pay no tax!

Don’t ever, ever look at facts!

Photo by Julius Silver on

Listen to my siren song!

Engage your rage!

I’ll build your cage!

I will help you cop a feel!

I will teach you how to steal!

I will tell you who is wrong!

Just listen to my siren song!

Photo by Mau00ebl BALLAND on

A pain in the ass to think it through!

And, there’s no need; believe my creed! 

I’ll show you now a real good time! 

What I do cannot be crime! 

See my flag of “FREEDOM!” red?

I must care a lot! Just like I said!

If it’s all just part of my rant

What more to do? You can’t! 

Photo by Denniz Futalan on

Just listen to my siren song!

Hate the people not like you.

Hate the folks of different hue.

Hate the folks who eat strange things.

Hate everyone I tell you to!

A different accent, different song, 

I’ll teach you that these things are wrong! 

Give me the power to fix it all.

Democracy’s no longer cool!

Once it’s gone we’ll have a ball!

(Oh, my God, you’re easy to fool!)

Photo by BROTE studio on

By twenty thirty, air’ll be dirty. 

By twenty forty, water too. 

But what care we

For ecology?!

A habitable world’s for liberal wussies! 

Caring for others is just for pussies! 

Just listen to my siren song!

Photo by Johannes Plenio on

I’ll get rich if you send me money!

If we kill the bees, eat plastic honey!

It’s just as good; I can’t be wrong!

Just listen to my siren song! 

Legitimate voters vote for me! 

That’s the way to victory!

We’ll have a country white as snow!

And if I steal, you’ll never know!

A perfect system for all who matter.

And that’s just me so I’ll get fatter!

Just listen to my siren song! 

You can’t go wrong; my lie’s so strong! 

Just listen to my siren song! 

Just listen to my siren song!

Just listen to my siren song. 

And when your freedom’s finally dead.

Don’t worry at all your pretty head. 

If you can’t eat or pay the rents

I might just let you live in tents. 

Just listen to my siren song! 

Just listen to my siren song!

Photo by David Cassolato on

You’ll never have to think again!

You’ll never have to right a wrong!

You need not care if sins are sin. 

You’ll become my little puppet.

I’ll open a tube; you’ll go up it.

Jump on command and drink what I say;

Don’t think at all beyond today. 

Just listen to my siren song. 

Such tasty Kool-aid can’t be wrong!

Don’t take a look at history! 

Just swallow my miracle mystery! 

Just follow my nice little siren song. 

Photo by Leonid Danilov on

Your life’s now mine! And, how divine!

You listened to my siren song. 

I own your brain; you’ll need no spine. 

That spark divine was such a pain; 

You had to take responsibility. 

So much easier when I own your brain.

No need to feed your creativity. 

You only need to sing my siren song. 

Every day from morn till night.

And if you ever come to see it’s wrong? 

My troops will come and douse your light. 

Photo by Pixabay on

Don’t go thinking far ahead.

You shouldn’t care if you’re live or dead.

So long as you can help me rule! 

You deserve to play the fool.

And keep on singing my siren song. 

Insisting that you’re never wrong.

Dwelling on the sound of every word. 

You play the clown; all thought abjured. 

Singing still my siren song. 

Just listen to my siren song. 

You’ll soon believe that right is wrong.

You’ll soon believe that weak is strong. 

Listen to my siren song.


Trumpism is a new religion

Essays on America: Wednesday

Absolute is not just a vodka

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: The Update Problem

The Ailing King of Agitate

Plans for us; some GRUesome

Where does your loyalty lie?

My cousin Bobby.

Come back to the light

Orange Mar-Mal-Made


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Photo by Izaac Elms on

He cheats on tax; destroys lives.

He lies on tape and cheats on wives.

The smartest man there ever was!

His brain is filled with orange fuzz

He tells the truth like no-one does!

Photo by Anna Tarazevich on

He’s the one I love to follow

‘Cause inside his soul is hollow.

He cheats his donors, owners, wives.

He likes to bully; ruin lives.

He’ll cheat and rant and scream and rave;

That has to show he’s big and brave! 

He’s never ever fought a battle, 

He’d have to drop his favorite rattle.

He shows me how I have to be:

Ingesting bleach and drinking pee.

The smartest man there’ll ever be! 

Photo by Pixabay on

His butt is made of solid gold! 

Everyone should join his fold! 

He is the Christ reborn! Foretold!

I’ll send him cash; I’ll pawn my stash!

I know what’s what; I’m never rash!

I know he’s not a con! Oh my!

He’s victimized by FBI!

The FDA, the EPA, 

The NSA, and CIA, 

All are out to get this guy!

Once he’s king we’ll have free beer.

And open season on anyone queer

Or one with eyes of different slant,

Or one who doesn’t love his rant.

Or one who doesn’t love his lies

Or one who won’t eat baby flies. 

In fact, it seems, that all must die

But that’ll be worth it to save his lie!

He’s such a winner he cannot lose. 

He’ll give us gold & bullion and booze! 

I’ll send him each and every dime,

‘Cause now at last it’s Putin’s time.


Essays on America: My Cousin Bobby

Where does your loyalty lie?

The Ailing King of Agitate

Essays on America: Wednesday

Happy Talk Lies

Come back to the Light!


Imagine all the people


The Mud Pit


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Photo by cottonbro on

“This is a test of your ability to survive! This is a test of your ability to survive! There is neither drinkable water nor any food source in the mud pit. Good luck!” 

Sally bit her lower lip and looked around her. The eyes of her pit-mates seemed cold, calculating. Despite her desperate situation, she shook her head and chuckled inwardly. She muttered, barely audible. “Not exactly what I thought alien abduction would look like. How about you folks?”

A few eyes glanced at her warily. Most of the people in the mud pit were desperately trying to clamber up the sides. A few however, like Sally, watched the others carefully, trying to assess which strategies worked best. Some went to one side of the pit and sprinted across the bottom and then jumped as high as they could. Some attempted to dig hand holes and footholds in the slimy mud. A few not too far away, had knocked out some of their companions and were trying to scramble on top of them. 

Photo by Pixabay on

It was clear to Sally that none of the strategies worked. It was maddening. The top rim of the pit was only fifteen feet up. This was no ordinary mud. It was the slickest she had ever seen or felt. Handholds quickly disappeared. Climbing up the steep sides rarely allowed anyone to get more than two or three feet off the floor of the pit and even that progress was immediately erased as they slipped back down. 

She remembered a hike along the Napoli Coast and then a movie image flashed into her mind from My Cousin Vinny. The Alabama mud had gotten Vinny’s car stuck after a rain. This was like that. Only worse. Another image flashed into her mind. Naked women dancing in the mud at a folk festival. Oh, yes. She had been one of them. Good times. 

Photo by Johannes Plenio on

Again, the unearthly metallic sounds of the aliens echoed loudly over the speakers. “This is a test of your ability to survive. This is a test of your ability to survive.” 

She muttered to herself, “Go screw yourself, octopus heads. Humanity doesn’t need your help. We were doing just fine destroying ourselves without your help.” Then, she took a deep breath and another. She thought: They are trying to panic us. People aren’t going to starve or even die of thirst right away. Let’s think. 

Almost too late, she saw a huge burly man hurl himself directly at her. She dodged out of the way lightly slapping his back as he passed by her. He jammed his head into the muddy wall behind her and fell to his knees unmoving. She stared and wondered: Had he broken his neck?

She hated being the center of attention, but people panicked and screamed all around her. Someone had to do something. She stuck her fingers in the sides of her mouth and let out an astonishingly loud whistle.

Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

“Listen up! We can all get out of here! We just need to work together! Stop trying to climb up by yourselves! You! You! Get over here! And you! Sally pointed to and called out the six strongest and biggest among them. Here. Interlock your arms…”

One of the biggest men objected. “What are you talking about? You’re not the boss! You heard the aliens! It’s every man for themselves! It’s a test of survival!”

There were murmurs of agreement in the crowd. Sally shook her head vigorously. “Listen! Yes, a test of survival! That’s not the same thing as ‘Every man for themselves.’ We can work together and get some people out. Once they’re out, they can get or make ropes and help the rest get out. Trying to climb out on your own won’t work. We have to work together.”

There were a few murmurs of assent. Sally picked out four more strong but lighter folks to form the second layer of the pyramid. 

Photo by Pia on

Sally sighed. The pyramid was shaky. It would have been a lot easier if most of the people hadn’t already gotten themselves slathered in mud. 

“OK. OK. Stay as steady as you can. Come on. I’m going to climb up and out. I will … “

Someone shouted in a loud voice: “How come you get to go out first! Let me go!” 

“Listen! We’ll all get out of here! I’m going first because I’m light. I’m one of the lightest people here but still agile.” 

The awkward pyramid fell twice. Each time, there was another argument about what to do. Some people went back to trying to race up the walls on their own. At last, when it was apparent that nothing else was even close to working, the third pyramid held. Sally carefully climbed up the lattice of bodies and was able to reach up beyond the rim. The ground beyond the rim was solid. Sally’s fingers grabbed the ground, some grass, some roots. She was able to swing one leg up over the rim. 

A long low trumpeting sound vibrated the ground around her. She looked up and saw that a rough amphitheater surrounded the rim of the mud pit. A few hundred of the squidish aliens stared through their giant triangle of eyes while making their weird murmurs. She looked back down into the pit.

Photo by Leonid Danilov on

“I got out! Good work! I’m going to go look for ropes or vines. There may be a few more who can climb out and help me! We’re going to get through this!” 

A few more teens were able to climb out as well, but the only tools they could find were some sharp rocks. It took most of the day to use the rocks to saw and chop through nearby grape vines, but by the end of the day they had done it. Soon everyone was out except for the man who had charged her. Apparently he had broken his neck. No-one could rouse him. He had no pulse. Apart from that, and a few minor sprains, the entire mud pit crew had escaped unharmed. 

The squid-like creatures hooted a higher pitched kind of trumpeting sound when the last of Sally’s pit-mates had been hauled up out of the pit. Then, the squids raised up their tentacles in parallel lines and seemed to ride on invisible rays into their hovering ship. When all the squid creatures had left the grandstand and re-entered their silvery ship, it began to spin, slowly at first and then faster and faster. It rose slowly and then, quite suddenly sped away in a flash of blue light and an incredibly loud bang.

Sally and her pit-mates had no idea where on earth they were. They were happy to be alive. They had no idea how close they had come to failing the test of survival or had that happened, just how quickly the alien squids would have destroyed all of humanity. 

Photo by Johannes Plenio on


The Isle of Right

Come together right now

The Only “Them” that counts is all of us

Stoned Soup

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Three Blind Mice


Author Page on Amazon

Joseph’s Coat of Many Colors


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The Walkabout Diaries: Joseph’s Coat

Something wasn’t right. 

But what?

Rose had no idea. 

She sensed that she was surrounded by others — some very like her and many very unlike her. Yet — she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right. 

She felt — bound up. She wasn’t free to grow in the way she really wanted to. And now she was moving in a most peculiar way. Her ancestors had seldom moved in such a way as this except in times of great catastrophe such as an earthquake. Suddenly, she found herself completely disconnected from the nourishing earth. Beneath her was nothing but cold hard metal and a whirring vibration. 

Now the warming sun disappeared, not as a gentle sunset. No. This was a sudden and violent transition from warm noon sun to complete and utter darkness. She sensed that she was not alone in this sunless prison. All of her fellow prisoners were also in a panic. Again, she sensed the cold hard metal beneath her and a deeper rumble of whirring vibration.

Then, and completely without warning, the sunlight again began to beat upon her with its full force. 

Soon, she felt herself unbound. She struggled to understand. She tried to stretch her roots out, tentatively at first, as you might begin to wiggle your toes after waking from a deep coma. She felt an unslakable thirst, Then, she sensed moisture nearby and minerals. 

She still felt as though she were in a very strange place. Had she formed her thoughts into words, she might have thought: “I have no idea why they would place me here of all places.” If rose had been human, that would have bothered her a great deal. But among her many distant aunts, uncles, and cousins, those who spent their energy decrying their placement, few survived. Her strategy, like those of her successful ancestors, was rather to spend her energy being as beautiful and varied as possible. 

Her faith was strong. Had she had a verbal creed, it might have been something like this: 

“I believe in the bees and the breeze. 

I believe in my own heritage. 

Like all other living things on earth today, my ancestry is 4.5 billion years old. 

I believe in the power of my roots to seek out and find the nourishment I need; to keep in mind my goals of water and minerals. I push and push, and when I reach the impenetrable, I seek a way around. I dance the dance of life. I don’t avoid the strife. I relish it.”

In the next few days, visiting bees told her that there was plenty of sunshine around even though Rose herself was mainly in shade. That bee-speak was enough to give Rose all the hope she needed to grow tall and wide. She explored in every direction.

The bees that buzzed near Rose told her, in their own way, of the vibrant and varied colors of her many other neighbors. She found their descriptions exotic and evocative. From time to time, she attempted to emulate those neighbors. The buzzing bees would pause in their busyness on occasion to give her feedback on how well she matched the colors of her unseen neighbors. 

Over time, she sensed the vibrations of other beings besides the bees. Feathering beings and furry beings, some large and some small. Mainly, they were friendly beings who admired her artwork. But there were also those who cared little for her artwork and instead simply came to feast upon her. Rose’s body became sustenance for mites and snails and aphids. Sometimes, other creatures came to protect her. She liked that. Sometimes, they failed to protect her and the pain became unbearable. But bear it she did. 

Rose resolved to use the pain to make her creations more beautiful still. 


Author Page on Amazon

The Winning Weekend Warrior — Sports psychology: strategy, tactics, self-talk for all sports including golf, tennis, softball, etc.

Turing’s Nightmares — 23 Sci-Fi scenarios about the future of Artificial Intelligence 

Fit in Bits — how to put more fun, variety, and exercise into your daily activities to help keep you fit, particularly during a pandemic

Tales from an American Childhood — a recounting of what it was like to grow up in the 1950’s in the US Midwest.

Myths of the Veritas — explores leadership, ethics, and empathy. 

Happy Raven – Angry Golfer

The Happy Raven and the Angry Golfer

{Translator’s Note: As a long-time observer and sometime discussion partner with the neighborhood ravens; as an amateur golfer; and as a professional psychologist — I thought it might be helpful to serve as a translator of dialogues. Our garden abuts a fairway, and the cart path is right outside our fence. As such, more than a few golf balls find their way into the garden. I myself have been known to miss an occasional fairway and hit the ball out of bounds. 

It’s “winter” in San Diego. While “winter” is often synonymous with “bad weather” in many parts of the country, that is not so for San Diego. Today was mild, dry, and largely sunny. Like many other “winter” days in San Diego, it’s actually a perfect day for playing golf. It was in this context that I overheard the following conversation between a Happy Raven and an Angry Golfer. The dialogue is shown in plain font and the translations appear in brackets.

“Caw. Caw. Caw.” [Good morning! Beautiful day! What’s up?]

“Oh, crap! Where’s my f#cking ball? God Damn it!” [I must have pulled it out of bounds again.]

“Caw. CAW! Caw.” [Good morning! Sometimes stuff happens! Enjoy the day!]

“I’ll just drop a ball near where it went out and hit from there.” [I cheat.] 

“Caw! CAW!! Caw! CAW!!” [You hit it OB. That’s not a lateral water hazard. You have to re-tee. You should be hitting three off the tee.]

Photo by Pixabay on

“I’ll just kick it out onto the fairway to speed up play.” [I cheat a lot. But when I do, I rationalize it as being in everyone’s interests.]

“CAW! CAW!! CAW!!! Caw.” [It’s not really golf if you’re cheating.]

“You up in the tree! Shut up! Shut up!” [You’re just a stupid bird. I’m a human! Shut up and let me concentrate on my next shot!]

“Caw. Caw. CAW! Caw.” [Good morning. Beautiful day. Embrace the day! Enjoy.]

Photo by Kindel Media on

“SHUT UP! Hush! Tricky to hit a three-wood that far, but a perfect shot would put me on the green. Elbow straight. Don’t cast from the top. Relax your hands. Keep your head down. Here we go. SH#T! You f#cking bird! You made me pull it over the fence again! I’ll have to go drop it again down there.” [I not only cheat; I cheat repeatedly and I like to blame others for my own mistakes.]

“Caw! Caw! Caw!” [Own up to your mistakes. Otherwise, how will you ever learn to fly right?]

“Mind your own damned business! You ruined my shots! I’m taking a Mulligan!” [I cheat and I blame others for my mistakes. But I don’t care. What I really enjoy is getting angry.]

“Caw. Caw. Caw.” [Good morning! Beautiful day! Enjoy!] 

{Translator’s Note: It’s a good thing humans were smart enough to name our species Homo sapiens. Otherwise, the rest of the animal kingdom would never know that we humans are the wisest ones on the planet.}


How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

Life Will Find a Way

Lest We Forget 

Racism is Absurd

Ah Wilderness

You Must Remember This

Stoned Soup

Author Page on Amazon

We’re all in this together


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We’re all in this together.

Each and every one. 

Oh, my God, it can’t be true. 

Perhaps for me, but not for you! 

You’re too black or brown or yellow!

I’m just an ordinary fellow! 

You’re too gay or straight or mellow!

You even eat that apple jello! 

We’re all in this together.

Each and every one.

Old & young and in-between;

The ever-seen and never-seen.

Oh, my God, it can’t be true. 

Perhaps for me, but not for you! 

You’re too fat or skinny or too tall!

Perhaps you’re short and way too small! 

We’re all in this together.

Each and every one.

Into games or sports of every sport.

Even tall and short and every sort.

Oh, my God, it can’t be true. 

Perhaps for me, but not for you! 

You’re too shallow, smart, or kind;

Too lame or sick or different mind. 

We’re all in this together.

Each and every one.

We’re all in this together.

Each and every one.

Take a glance join the dance

The Watershed Virus

The only “them” that counts is all of us

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Fire and Ice

The “All for me” Bee

Life Will Find a Way

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Myths of the Veritas: The Forgotten Field

Fire & Ice


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Photo by Simon Berger on

Fire: “What are you doing here? Fool. I’m god here. You’re neither wanted nor needed. It’s over. Have an ice day!”

Ice: “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Fire: “Bah. In war, it is I who kills. Flame-throwers, the gunpowder propelling bullets, bombs, and best of all, but rarely used, atomic fire. Oh, it warms my heart to see.” 

Photo by Pixabay on

Ice: “Yes, but I am your best partner, though you know it not.”

Fire: “You? Hah. Okay, I grant you, frostbite and cold have destroyed the bodies of many. Napolean and Hitler and Lord knows who else’s armies. But still.”

Photo by Pixabay on

Ice: “No, you’re foolish and rambling as ever. I’m not talking about how I can help you kill. I’m talking about how I prepare the ground for you. Make people not care. Encourage the turning of a cold shoulder, a blind eye. Without me, people might never turn to you.”

Fire: “I doubt it. Fire begets fire. Hate begets hate. What does your little chill of indifference have to do with it? Be gone or I’ll melt you to water.” 

Photo by Tim Erben on

Ice: “Perhaps. But I might douse you to smoldering embers. I suggest you think about it. We can work as partners. Each making the other stronger. Actually, we have been partnering, but I’ve never gotten the credit I deserve. You’ve ignored me too long.”

Photo by Pixabay on

Fire: “Hah! Not nearly so much as you have ignored me! You’re useless without me!”

Ice: “Fine, if that’s the way you feel, then this is goodbye. Forever.”

God smiled. Humanity prospered.

Author Page on Amazon

Essays on America: Ice

Take a glance Join the Dance

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

What about the butter dish?

Essays on America: The stopping rule

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Happy Talk Lies

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

My Cousin Bobby

The Loud Defense of Untenable Positions

It’s not your fault; send me money

Absolute is not just a vodka

The “All for me!” Bee


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A fuzzy buzzy honey bee

Is just as happy as can be.

He rests inside a flower head.

What a lovely bower bed! 

The bees had learned to be quite wise 

At least, that’s what I do surmise

For in their bee-ish sort of way.

The bees alive and thrive each day.

For fifty million years survive.

They’ve helped the flowers live and thrive.

But then one day it came to be

A very different sort of bee.

And he proclaimed: “It’s not our lot

To help the flowers; that’s just rot!

And if you’re careful you can see 

We can still keep making honey.

There’s no need to help the rose.

Do they help us? I don’t suppose!”

This long-tongued rogue had so convinced

A new behavior soon evinced. 

The bees avoided pollination 

But gathered stuff for beehive nation. 

Yet all went well or so it seemed 

The bees still thrived and they still dreamed. 

They feasted well in winter’s cold. 

So happy with their new plan bold. 

The sunny spring arrived at last. 

The flowers though no longer massed.

“Each bee for themselves is right! 

Who cares no rose? We’ll fight!

We’ll sting, not sing, you’ll see

We’ll all do well if you give me all your honey!”

The roses gone; no bees to thrive. 

The roses gone; no bees survive.

For greed is poison just like snake. 

And only a fool would follow a fake.

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Myths of the Veritas: Three Blind Mice

Myths of the Veritas: Stoned Soup

The Ailing King of Agitate

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Pandemic Anti-Academic

Where does your loyalty lie?

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: Wednesday

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Loud Defense of Untenable Positions

At Least he’s our monster

The Isle of Right

Author Page on Amazon

Life Will Find a Way


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Let’s say:

That there’s a way.

A way.

Life will find a way. 

(It always does).

Life will find a way.

And so too

Will you. 


Each seed will lead

To a thousand more.

An ocean shore. 

The beach will reach and each upon the beach

Again will try to reach and dance with ebb and dance with flow.

Life will find a way — 

A way to learn and love and grow. 

Life is ever clever 

Even ever cleverer. 

And you will also flow and grow.

Photo by Andru00e9 Ulyssesdesalis on

Life will find a way — 

A way to harness the light of the sun.

A way to swim in all the seas. 

A way to crawl upon the land. 

A way to burrow into sand. 

A way to be and to expand.

Photo by Pia on

Life will find a way — 

And so too,

Will you.

Life will find a way — 

To live a thousand years. 

To generate tears.

To glow in the dark 

To growl and sing and roar and bark.

To see and hear and smell and feel. 

And that, my friends is just the first reel! 

Life will find a way. 

It’s what life does. 

Life will find a way. 

So too will you. 

You are of that marvelous tree of life 

That’s struggled through four billion years of strife. 

You are of that same tough stuff. 

That makes the shark; 

That makes the oak; 

Let’s eagles soar;

Let’s lions roar;

Makes mountains of coral; 

Gardens glow floral; 

Choirs sing choral 

Warblers and whales

Crickets and cranes. 

Marvelous medley of life:

A myriad of shapes

In millions of sizes.


Life atop peaks!

Life in the deeps!

Life in the desert.

Jungles of life 

In tangles of vines.


Life will find a way. 

It’s what life does.

Life will find a way.

And you will too. 

Life will find a way. 

And so too, my friend, will you. 


Life is a dance

Dance a whirling while or three

Take a glance; join the dance

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Ah Wilderness

The Forest

Oh Tannenbaum

Author Page on Amazon