… sitting by Fishkill Creek, near the old bridge, almost halfway point on this particular walk route… strange, an earlier note deleted and replaced with a new one, somehow confused in the backing up exchange… a bird pecking away nearby, i can’t find it with my eyes… the sound of a branch falling through still attached branches in a tree, a large bird flapping off into the distance, two men walk by chatting, the creek burble-gurgles, birds twitter and call…

… it occurs to me that to write strong words one needs to feel strongly… it occurs to me that most of life is not felt strongly… to reflect life, write mostly the mundane sprinkled with crescendo moments… it isn’t all about the peaks and valleys…