Drifting through the melancholy gray of winter with little desire to ride or write. The scooter moves through its cold morning stutters to support whatever weak explorations I mount. And then, mostly, my mind is full of promises of home. Home, warm and resting, until some change of mind and thought takes hold and I once again freely move along on the Vespa.
Despite the gray I do ride. The bitter cold has been replaced by the murk that rises from the thawing landscape. My forlorn spirit crying for light. On the road, on foot, or seated with hot tea in solitude — my mind seems to wander through sadness and loss.Continue Reading