On a balmy night in Chicago, I am wondering what I have learned not to notice.

Purple is a scented hue.

I know what it’s like for a dream to feel like hunger.

I’ve never seen anything quite like this place.

The tree outside my window is dying.

A photo that I took this week has gotten me thinking.

I am a professional listener.

Ansel Adams once said, “Sometimes I do get to places just when God's ready to have somebody click the shutter.” I just had one of those moments.

Viewing someone from a room away evokes melancholy.

Sometimes I just need to be reminded of the bigger picture.

At 8:18 tonight, David Day and I are driving the streets of Scottsdale and feel trapped.

Finishing my call, I look up at the top-heavy mop heads of the cluster of palms above me.