Mountains Are Where Heaven Meets

Right Now, I'm Writing Song Lyrics. Experimenting With A Play. Toying With An Idea For A Documentary. I Hope One Of These Will Eventually Be Launched Into The Light Of Day.

In Egypt, I Loved The Perfume Of The Lotus. A Flower Would Bloom In The Pool At Dawn, Filling The Entire Garden With A Blue Musk So Powerful It Seemed That Even The Fish And Ducks Would Swoon. By Night, The Flower Might Wither But The Perfume Lasted. Fainter And Fainter, But Never Quite Gone. Even Many Days Later, The Lotus Remained In The Garden. Months Would Pass And A Bee Would Alight Near The Spot Where The Lotus Had Blossomed, And Its Essence Was Released Again, Momentary But Undeniable.

There's Something Almost Adolescent About Whitman's Paean To Everything That Was And Remains Good About America.

Biblical Names Are Hot Again.

I Could Not Get My Fill Of Looking. There Should Be A Song For Women To Sing At This Moment Or A Prayer To Recite. But Perhaps There Is None Because There Are No Words Strong Enough To Name That Moment.