Work is writing
writing to work.
Working through
the work of writing
through writing itself,
trying to find Time to Write…

all the time…
indulging my Muse,
now that is Work.

April Song on the Vineyard

A robin sings in the thicket on the edge.

Ter-eet! Ter-eet!

The wind whisks through the twisted oaks.

Somewhere off in the distance

someone steps on the gas

and the exhaust ripples the morning air

and the Atlantic yawns beneath the front.

A new day.


I’d rather…

I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.