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Every year, I am always taken by surprise by the first sign of life in the garden.
Two seats over from me in a crowded airport gate, a young teen bends over his sketchbook. I decide we should talk.
Only minutes remain before I am to start scribing an event in Hollywood (sigh: Florida) and I am staring into the huge eyes of a robot.
While packing today, I come across two figurines in my bureau drawer. I have long forgotten why I put them there. But they make an odd combination: Horus and Batman.
I sit down in a new sanctuary – recently built and new to me. I lift my eyes to the front of the sanctuary and there I see a cross unlike any other I have seen. For it is made entirely of light.
On the way to see my son’s new office in Harrisonburg, Virginia, we walk past a sculpture that captures the dismay I feel about the latest school shooting.
When I want a feel for a town, I don’t head for Main Street. That’s for the tourists and TripAdvisor junkies. For me, nothing gives an unvarnished feel for a place like an alley.
Sunlight is often playful. Today it sneaks through a window in the room where I am prepping for a meeting and selects one word out of all that I’ve written. Challenges. Is that some kind of sunny joke?
Her face is striking, even seen through the window of a moving car: pale, beautiful, slightly anxious. I only catch a glimpse as we pass. Later, I have to walk back to get a better look.
Traffic is moderate on the dreaded I-95 when my phone reminds me to pay attention. The industrial landscape around Baltimore did not look very promising for a post. But then, ahead, I saw it.
If you were to have one image to communicate who you were to the world, would you smile? What might you hold in your hands? What background would you choose?