On The One Hand, It Felt Like A Really Nice Day...

Why are we able, some days, to make and re-make endless resolutions that we have already made endless times before and on those happy days, never lose heart at our own fickle, embarrassing ineptitude? Is it grace or naievete that makes such days pure and happy, regardless of our betrayals and incapacity?

A Commute From The Inside/Outside

I stood under my umbrella in a bright yellow slicker, waiting for the kid's bus and was astonished at how fast the traffic sped by on Everhard Road, so many, so fast, that no one driver or passenger could be identified or recognized, just a relentless buzz of hurry.

I remember that the afternoon commute *inside* of cars seems mundane and regular, but from a rainy corner vantage point, outside of so many cars zipping past -- the pace and vigor of the world felt both exhausting and futile.