Looking into his eyes, I wonder, “Is this the Jesus I know?”
Protruding from a brick wall, the giant, golden hand beckons me.
The secret gardens are always the best ones.
Apparently, we are all hardwired with two competing systems.
Walking through the casino, I am thinking about gambling.
The lion in front of me has no idea I’ve been stalking him.
The farmer’s market is awash in flamboyant color.
What if, this year, spring hadn’t returned?
As I leave my Manhattan hotel, I get some free advice.
I happen to glance down at just the right time.
The wind is howling outside of my Iceland hotel room.
Colors this extravagant feed my ongoing musing about hope.
The man on the corner looks like yet another urban panhandler.
The glittering stone in a Manhattan shop window has stopped me in my tracks.