That dull calamity

So this is where it ends, in solitude picking up the pieces as best I can, which isn’t very good at this point. I push myself to do something, anything: I do, therefore I am.


self-portrait, flash and mirror. I’m in there somewhere

I go down into the rough, old, stone-foundation basement of this old farm house to do some clean-up. I’m trying to pick up where I left off more than two years ago when we bought this place, before everything, finally, went wrong.

There was a “we” then. Now there’s just a “me.” And that’s not enough anymore. “What dreams may come” indeed. Continue reading

People are Fragile Beings

I have just read Kirk Smith’s letter to the editor of this newspaper about his brother Brian’s “incessant” walking journey up and down the Bruce Peninsula along the shoulders of Highway 6. I don’t believe I have ever read anything more touching, heartfelt, and beautifully written. With family members like Kirk and his mother Marion, whose love for her homeless son shines so clearly through Kirk’s letter, Brian is truly blessed. Continue reading