The Wayfaring Stranger
The mostly unedited ramblings of a man who rarely proofreads the chaos of words flowing from his fingertips…
Sunrise filters through the clouds in dancing, golden motes, touching upon the mountainsides of the Adirondack High Peaks. It slips around the shoulders of mountains, flowing down into the vacant valleys in warm streams. Waking up to catch the sun as it stretches over the horizon, honest and slow, sets your soul on fire, helping you slip out of your tired skin and into one a little less cumbersome.
Read MoreSomething draws you to a place, or pushes you towards it. You're there because of something, you are where you are because of the life that you have led.
Some mornings you wake up with creativity flowing through your veins…and some mornings when you wake up you don’t feel a thing. That usual spark of need to do, to act, to create just isn’t there. Some mornings turn into two, then a whole week rolls by with your camera gathering dust and that blinking cursor pestering you at the end of an unfinished paragraph in your latest story.
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