Winter’s Sun

the sun 1




























Whosain Molt

Okay. There is no pretending that this is a stellar drawing. I have done very little art work since my sister passed on, so am more than rusty; yet, this is good enough for me. Sheesh. Am distracted by the bulge. BRB. Gotta go fix it.

Okay. It is done. I am too lazy to scan another copy, so I hope you will take my word that the tweaked drawing is much better. So. I did the sketch for my brother, who is the only person I know who doesn’t the name of the fastest man on the planet. To help him out, I decided to send him the entire Olympics 2012 sport section of the NYT I’ve been saving for any possible future grands that might come my way. Since I could not send him such marvels in a plain white envelope, I tarted it up just a little. Hope you get at least a smile from my efforts.

Be well.


The Song Berd

Colors fall flat tonight.

Last night I had problems laying down graphite. My perspective was so skewed it made my eyes go dark and damp. So, I put aside my pencil and stood at the window. I had to say goodnight.

She lay in a room across the way. So close, yet too far gone to hear me calling–asking her to stay. Or, come back? I could pretend it was pretend, but why?

Opening the way didn’t help.

Did anything change with the light of day? If it did, please show me the way. I want to see for myself. What a cruel cross to bear. Irony? Or, “Pun intended”? How foolish! Who came up with that crap anyway?

Goodnight, Mina. I love you.