Take My Hand

Take My Hand

Imagine, for a moment… We’re sitting together on a bench, on a bridge overlooking the river mouth.  The sun is rising or setting across the horizon, painting watercolours in the sky.  You open your mouth, as if to say something, and you take my hand. And it isn’t...

The Garden of Forking Paths

If anything, I am probably an ideator… [1] …which is really just a kind way of admitting that I rarely complete anything I set out to accomplish.   You see it in this orphaned blog, just as you would see it in the reams of sketches, references and...