Far beyond the stark beauty of the trees that have shed their summer leaves and settled in for the long New England sleep there is a beauty. From the deepest of indigo, into the powdery blue, and beyond that into shades of peach and crimson, there lies a promise on this cloudless morning of warmth and sunshine. There can be no more beautiful time of day than when the sun is rising or setting. The range of colous goes beyond a mere rainbow, and yet that is all it is: a rainbow on steroids.

I wish in the deepest recesses of my heart that I had a command of the language like Leonard Cohen or Hunter S. Thompson. Alas, this little paragraph will have to suffice.

So another year has passed since that dreadful day. I have no personal connection to the blackest day in my lifetime but I can’t get past it for some reason. Every year I have to watch all the specials about that day. I have to watch the full rebroadcast that MSNBC does of the Today Show’s coverage “as it happened”. It’s a wound that will not heal and I keep picking the scab off every 12 months regardless of the pain that it will bring. I don’t know why. I guess I feel that it is something that should never be forgotten, and this is my way of remembering it. Read the rest of this entry…

Raindrops sparkle in the green
Sparks of sunshine on the brown
Above them all is blue