I watched her rise and fall over our sleepy little town. That dead rock in the sky, that shines over us all… Who knows the secrets here? Where? Where everyone pretends that nothing happens.

The warm salt waters of the Gulf Stream flow north from Mexico, along the eastern continental shelf, passed Cape Breton and beyond. Cold arctic air sweeps down over frozen tundra and bristles raised hairs on hunched backs, along Labrador and into the Northumberland Strait. Where these 2 meet is a spit of land that rises out of the Atlantic, just north of New York City, and is formerly known as New Scotland. It’s because of this; the north winds and the south currents that the conversations here are usually always about the weather…

To an outsider, it would appear as if nothing else goes on here but the weather. However, appearances are deceiving. Nothing is as it seems…

Reminds me of the old joke… A man from the city asks a fisherman, “What do you do around here for excitement.”

The fisherman smiles, ” In the summertime we fish and we fuck. In the winter, we don’t fish. “

I can’t say I’m shocked. I didn’t expect less complaining. However, I did think there might be more gratitude.

I understand human nature for what it is: undeniable selfish.

I was told: ‘You will know a new freedom and a new happiness. You will be amazed before you are halfway through.’

Well, I must be nearing the halfway mark because I am truly amazed.

There’s this feeling that’s just so nearly…

Like the battered and the bruised.

I wonder if I heard clearly.

Deep down, I’m just confused.

There’s a man who’s screaming something.

In the face of that sad clown.

There’s a juggler in the spotlight.

That didn’t use the right pronoun.

The siamese twins grow tired.

Two heads can not agree.

Cooperation is required.

No discernments they can see.

The wives they seem so angry.

The husbands have that look.

Doesn’t much matter which way I go.

Either way, I’m on the hook.

And the men

When I was a kid in the 1960s, the farmers could be heard lamenting about a changing world that they feared.

Beautiful stone cobbled streets of small towns were replaced with “The Shopping Mall Generation!” AND cities grew. “Who would grow the food?” The farmers asked.

But did anyone see this coming down the pike? A generation so smart that they make money while they sleep?

A generation who became so important that not having children became for them, the best option. Which is probably the best thing since we can no longer determine genders…

I am not afraid. I am not in control. I am embarrassed… or am I entertained?

The bitter cold has lifted, the snowflakes melted wet.

The winds are more forgiving, we are huddled with feet set.

On ground as hard as clay, under sky as white as bone.

We are humbled and forgiven, yet we feel so all alone.

Maybe it’s just the season, it might be something more.

We are waiting on deliverance, in that distance there’s a roar.

It’s calmer in the evenings, bathing in that sparkling light.

Just moments of peace and wonder where wonder brings the night.

Before the fears take over and time has had her way.

Its nothing short of dying and those words you try to say.

It’s because we love and want and out of that we grow the fear.

When I see my daughter and wish my Mom was here…

The Shortest Day

Is the Longest Night

And the Brightest Star

Is the Rarest Sight…

There are 32 ways to tell a story, and I’ve used them all. However, there is only one plot – things are not as they seem.

There are 2 types of workers. Those who do a good job and those that promote their careers.

If you realized how seldom people thought about you, you might stop worrying about what people think…