"The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore." - Vincent van Gough

Thursday, August 25, 2016



Prairie Road is one of my main daily commute passages. Farming fields varying like my Netflix top picks.  I look to my stereo clock with green lights that have started to fade making out 3:36 pm. I roll down my window as the breeze picks up my long hair and pushes it into the back seat. My car starts to fill with strong smells of mint as I pass by dark green fields, dreaming of peppermint patties. My gaze shifts quickly between the road I should be concentrating on and the large glooming clouds rolling slowly over the ideal blue sky. I continue to drive straight into the lightning and hail storm hoping it will awaken something inside me. This expectation is quickly shattered as the hail starts to pound my windshield making it difficult to see. I pull over my car and suddenly my surroundings come into focus as I stare out over the open spaces. I take a deep breath, realizing this old black Subaru carries my down this prairie road the best she can. This is just another daily commute. 


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Thursday, August 4, 2016



"I thought how lovely and how strange a river is. A river is a river, always there, and yet the water flowing through it is never the same water and is never still. It’s always changing and is always on the move. And over time the river itself changes too. It widens and deepens as it rubs and scours, gnaws and kneads, eats and bores its way through the land. Even the greatest rivers- the Nile and the Ganges, the Yangtze and the Mississippi, the Amazon and the great grey-green greasy Limpopo all set about with fever trees-must have been no more than trickles and flickering streams before they grew into mighty rivers...

Do I change like a river, widening and deepening, eddying back on myself sometimes, bursting my banks sometimes when there’s too much water, too much life in me, and sometimes dried up from lack of rain? Will the I that is me grow and widen and deepen? Or will I stagnate and become an arid riverbed? Will I allow people to dam me up and confine me to a wall so that I flow only where they want? Will I allow them to turn me into a canal to use for their own purposes? Or will I make sure I flow freely, coursing my way through the land and ploughing a valley of my own?” 

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