The drums

No words. My keyboard has turned into a strange kaleidoscope of symbols that refuse to congregate into the familiar pattern of sentences. There has been this noise, a faint rumour, barely above the whisper of a gentle breeze caressing a tree’s foliage. But then the sound sharpened, its volume raised by the passing of time…

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Not So Wasted Away…

11 BC. Beautiful sunny day, prelude to fall, some trees having shyly begun turning red already. The wind is blowing steadily from the southwest, raising white caps on English Bay, shaking the relative summer heat off. The air smells of coffee, literally and metaphorically. I’ve had Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville in my head all morning, God…

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