Taking the train to work every day, I get to see the same scenery, but different moments every day. The same tree changes depending on mood, memory, and circumstance. A woman's face is one day forgettable, the next - haunting. Sometimes there comes a moment - I won't call it a satori or even an epiphany - where the right image strikes me at the right time in the right way and something is born.
Wrote this on that train at the intersection of nostalgia, literature, and life...and along the Blue Line at Cedar-Riverside.
Marco Crestani was kind enough to publish it on his blog, Priamo.
You can read my piece here.
Cheers. Be well.
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