Saturday morning. My gaze is drawn to the window, to sunlight that streams into the room. The blue sky beckons me, thin gray clouds scuttling southward, drawing away from the dim glow of this screen (a necessary tool).

Desire. What is desire? Desire is inclination for movement, for pleasure of bodily movement, the wind upon one’s face, “mind” stimulated by transformation of growth surrounding us. 

Spring is a roaring cataract. Standing as witness, sensing the rush of adrenaline, the body’s involuntary response, as if a call is being answered,… Is that my name that I hear, and your name?

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Yesterday in the early evening we walked along Third Street in Geneva. Tulips are at peak of bloom. Tulips, gem-like, alive, ephemeral, last no more than several days. The blooms serve to demonstrate what is possible if life is nurtured, crafted toward that indefinable zone of peerless excellence.

Nature and Claude Monet paint with a similar style. Oh wait, Monet was painting nature!

Words alone fail to describe the “beauty” of such blossoms. You have to be there, to indwell, to experience for yourself… To fall in love.

Time enough for a tune! How about this one: Ring of Fire by Social Distortion.