I've been asked what i am thinking about- what i care about...

Contrary to appearances, there ARE some things, and we'll aim for intelligible ones, just for you, Chuck... to fend of the 'Spoon of Democles' that hangs forever above the vague and cryptic poster...

I've been thinking about my life, particularily recent, in bemused retrospective. About the comforting unknown of the future. Where i've been. What it might have meant. where i might be going. Who i was. Who i am.

Thinking how much i love quiet. And crisp stars. And leisurely walks under them with two of the people I've grown to love dearly- and a furry third who's growing on me. How so often the only times i seem to remember who i am are like this- alone, under stars, before a vast open space and a gentle tide of moving air...but tonight, i was there, yet people were with me, and it was comforting. And returning, of course, to the inviting yellow windows. To warmth. to home.

Am i starting to be at Home?
That is a strange idea to me.

thinking about Tolstoy. Yeah, really. Last night, waiting for coffee to wear off, i was reading a biographical sketch of Tolstoy- a writer, simply a writer, a teller of stories...but a man of conscience, a man of faith... a man of many acknowledged failings who nevertheless felt a deep duty to improve himself...a man who saw things differently, who did not accept them as they were, who did his best to make things better for as many as he could - a man who inspired no less significant a soul than Ghandi....