"My fingers are poised. I long to touch you and revel in your waters; no longer does the winter hold us apart. Warm breezes are coming to join us and blow away our fears. Sunny days will come and drench us in the sweet-sweet heat of summer. I’ll watch again as the rain softly pelts your face; I’ll smile again and watch it all sweep downstream. I’d live here if you’d let me. I’d build a house next to yours and be your neighbor. We’ll look out the window at each other and wave. Your reeds can be my lawn; your cattails my trees. I’ll plant a garden of willows, and we’ll watch them grow." 
Another piece of my new story. Come and share it with me on April, 26th at Different Paths gallery in Brockport, NY 5-7pm. 

 One leftover Easter sunset. A chance to reflect on the passing of another year. Spring comes and grants life anew.
The beginning of life starts with the realization that death is an integral part.
The scariest concept: what lies beyond.
Faith.
Hope.
Swim in the cosmos and know the truth:
This life is only the start. We're just learning to walk.
We get our wings later.

I have more pictures of, more love for, more time spent with, more spiritual connection to, WATER than any other part of nature.
We came from it, are surrounded by it, made of it. We exist because of it. 
God granted me the spirit of water. My soul swims in it.

                              

"I can see the white specks of soft oxygen floating on your ever so slightly-stained back. The sun reflects off the moving ripples of liquid karma. The movement of your spine drifts through the broken woods with abject disregard. There is no beginning and no end; only the rigor of ebb and flow. I have questions that only you can answer; unanswered questions from my childhood. They rage in my heart and can no longer be contained. I have no choice but to see you up close now, old friend. My feet are burning to ramble; my eyes itching with desire. Your banks are stripped bare by the frozen storms; pounded flat by the weight of winter. You have an openness now like at no other time of the year. I crave to discover your secrets; I require an audience with your mystery guests. Come, let me know you again before the rains of April wash it all away; before the blossoms of May hide them forever."
From my new story "I Know You"