August 15, 2020


     I greatly admire Zhivago’s resilient capacity to hope.  To hope for the renewal of life’s beauty even when faced with its harshest conditions; the commitment that Spring must be carried in the heart even if it is absent around us.  Neighbors once carried embers of fire in winter to neighbors to light their hearths.  There is dignity in being a tiny Prometheus, a flashing light in the sky of existence.  This is where my work seems to be traveling as I approach the culmination of my years..  Now my reportage is coming in real time, I am back from the shadows.  I leave the company of the ancient Greeks, I am at the front line with you at this very moment as we all struggle to get by, to survive.



Where to begin?

I think therefore I am

Yes, that is a good place to start

And I will affirm that life is precious

And that I embrace the world

This world that my senses have shown me

This world of sublime beauty and unspeakable sorrow

A place of great harvest and great loss



Now I am seventy

And outside my walls the world seems to tremble

The pleasant silence has been rudely disturbed

Pestilence and confusion are seen running wild

 The tolling of bells is constantly heard

Everywhere souls are seeking asylum

 As chaos is prowling

To feed on the lie


 And I,


I cling to my beautiful Lisa

My Lara

 Taking refuge together here in the wild

Surrounded by lushness and the soothing of nature

We live on an island where spirits may thrive


It is a fine place to work at becoming Zhivago

To feel his emotions

To see through moist eyes

That even beneath the cruel Russian winter

  Though snowbound and hidden

Perfusions of flowers in Spring will arise