I’ve dreamt of being a great (aka famous) writer. I’ve imagined epic poems, beautiful novels, and dramatic works of fiction, as one does. The epicness of writing eludes me.
I write about the trivial and ordinary, with great affection because it delights me.
My hope is to never know a day where a sunrise, a bank of clouds, an impossible flower, or scurrying critter doesn’t stop me in awe.
I’ll consider myself a tremendous success if I am able to occasionally convey the deep love I feel for the family, and friends, and humans who complicate and enrich my days.
May random bike ride thoughts forever spark a deep, spiraling, inward exploration, in an attempt to gain greater understanding of being human.