You see, the Highway to Hell is a toll road. Someone has to pay. And, guess what? It ain’t gonna be me.
He heard her in his heart – whispering from the mist.
Deb and I were married on a snowy night – wind cross-wove a veil of snow for her then threw confetti at us as we left the lighted church...
Here’s what I’ve learned – people will hurt you, but you don’t have to respond: Not every mean comment or cruel act deserves to be noticed.
December’s wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer’s memory.
Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin – inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night.
I love it when the dark bottle of night spills out, and the Moon writes in chalk about us.
It must be hard when you are a beautiful woman and no one will look at your soul...
I pray this winter be gentle and kind – a season of rest from the wheel of the mind.
The abyss you stare into and that stares back at you is your reflection in the mirror – we all have it – that shadow self – that dark heart...
I have found, beauty is the illumination of the mind...
I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists.
The religion of the heart is as intimate as a wish breathed to the night sky...
I make no apology about stirring the depths – every human longs to swim under water and see what lurks beneath.
Authority is the unmistakeable tone in the voice of a true writer.
If you want your own distinctive voice, you first have to become someone.
We fear monsters because we fear the dark parts of ourselves.
I’m not afraid of the opinions of others – but of being needed and coming up short.
I’m shy in person – so afraid to confess my love – I need a go-between – our mutual friend, the Moon.
In the end, we all inherit a stone, after life’s waves have rolled over us – and hopefully, she’ll write upon it.