The following may be of interest to writers and non-writers alike, or of interest to only me, since they are my musings. I have decided to write it down here for me.
Some are very complex and others are very simple.

I suppose I could say that I have a simple relationship with the homeless man who often stands at the end of the freeway exit by my office. I don't know his name or what brings him to this corner. We greet one another with mutual smiles, a wave and everytime, he gives me a thumbs up.

He stands there in the very early morning, his breath visible in the cold air. His full thick mustache draws attention away from his thin face.  Tugging at the dark beanie pulled down over his ears, he holds a piece of cardboard box that has printed with black marker, 'God Bless You'.

I can't tell you what days he is there or not there, only that I can rely on his presence more often than not.  But now, several day have passed and I have not seen him.  Each day as I exit the freeway, I expect to see him and he is not there. 

I feel a little sad.  I miss our greetings through the car window.  Thumbs up, my friend, wherever you are.


In a memory, I am captive by desert sunsets fading into a mirage of ocean.

In a dream, I slow danced beside a campfire with the ghost of a love that never lived.

In a nightmare, I suffocating in fear and a flood of tears; lost in efforts of foolish giving while the echo of midnight prayers remained constant.

In reality, my strength has been honed by memories, dreams and nightmares. Like the iron forged by flame, and the diamond shaped out of coal, I could not be who I am today without the process of my past.


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