Ratso was the name given to a baby squirrel that fell from it’s nest and was rescued by IVAN who nursed Ratso to health to the point that the squirrel treated my neighbor like its mother until one day last week Ivan didn’t see Ratso under his feet and shortly after there was a squirrel burial in the front yard.

Ivan seemed sad.

When we returned home today, Zylia said. “I’m sorry Ratso.”

Life is like that.

It started out as everything this lust. This need to be with only to vanish. Towards something like solitude.

I have enjoyed this juxtaposition because I feel like it is really 2 lives. First the innocence. Followed by fatherhood.

Thank God for both!

News is bad, got the radio on…

15 minutes of fame seems far to long.

News ain’t good, spotlight is shone…

Looking for decency hither and yon.

Once was a girl who quit it cold turkey.

All that smoking and puffing didn’t quite workie.

She’d rage day and night…

About being happy and right.

In the end we all thought her quite quirky.

I’ve been in Paul’s studio for the last week away from the masses and have delved into the world of buying paint and creating stick people who say little unless you listen very closely and then… you may hear the voices of discontent from a not so distant past.

I feel her rise at centre stage.

That spotlight shine on dear old rage.

The winds of change are circumspect.

Bang that drum… demand respect.

I’m older now, can cool that rise.

Looking for nothing in anyone’s eyes.