This love of life makes me weak at my knees.




In the dead of night, when it’s just me and the frogs and the critters that feel safest in low light, everything seems clearer. Last night I realized the importance of distance. Perspective. I am taking my new project back to its roots and making it really mine. Sometimes I feel I am a person without a real place to call home. Not that I don’t have a lovely roof over my head. But I am an exile. An expat. I think the place that roots me just doesn’t exist anymore and I intend to bring it back, if only on the page.