The sky a blanket.
The air is heavy with intent.
And there is premonition glow.
To a world,
Waiting.
Slow.
Stop.
Takes a deep breath
Exhales what’s left.
All our careful plans may come to naught.
As storms build their own design.
All the things we fearless fought.
Crash down wet snow split pine.
This is a space where I have a mid life crisis, write about my creative journey, and talk about songwriting and share bits of terrible poetry.
On tents in the backyard
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My Piano Needs to be Tuned 
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