Kids, day job, brain all conspire my thoughts jump around not the gentle glide of a butterfly dipping delicately into each flower but powerful jerks of continental shifts tectonic plates crashing the bits, the parts, the molten stone left swirl in the raging tide broken and lost


Ashes Motes drifting in the ether floating on the wind of possibility the result of fire and destruction an old idea stripped to essentials the end is the beginning ashes become nourishment feeding something new feeding something different hope made real by the sacrifice to fire