A writer, a creative thunderstorm of emotions,  with a pen, pain, and a restless heart that just can’t break free. That’s me.

  
A photographer, an artistic gypsy, a soul out to capture what I crave but aludes me just beyond my grasp. That’s me. 

  
It’s 3am. The alarm will all too soon play the morning in a forest to let me know its that time to begin a new day. How do you begin something that almost never ends? One day blurs into another, you just have to accept that life is what it is. With one foot in front of the other trying to smile into the rising sun.

       
As the perplexities of life astound or leave me scratching my head each day; I most often am Wondering where I went wrong, what did I do? What didn’t I do? I always back track and visit an empty train station or simply to find it full of people and problems so that it rattles my mind like a Tommy Knocker, and Pennywise is always there to greet me – eat me alive. Its up to me to survive.

  
I have places I go to escape reality. There I freely write from my soul, I let it all flow. Like the ocean where my soul longs to be free. Just like my beloved river where my heart bleeds. There is much beauty to see on the surface. Especially in the setting sun. Yet, with deadly currents lurking just below the surfice. Swirling, churning, pulling me into a black abyss all alone.  But, I dont like going there. I keep my smile above the surface. I like my feet in the sand. Pen or camera in my hand! 

  
Whatever troubles me, or haunts my heart I know I can if only minimally ease it when I write. I put it all to paper (or the screen) or through a lens as I capture the beauty around me. Filtered or unfiltered its all about my perception of reality.

  
Whatever my perception or the reality of life really is it all comes down to the path I choose. No matter if it is 3am and I have a heavy heart and the weight of the world is on my shoulders. Robert Frost one of my favorite poets wrote one of my favorite poems.

“The Road Not Taken”.  Robert Frost

 
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;         5
 
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,         10
 
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.         15
 
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.      20