Flashlights at High Moon

Writing, for me, it has become apparent, is the mechanism by which I best metabolize feelings, emotions, and life. How without words could I explain to so many others the tragedy and comedy of the recreation of one moment in life? Had I cameras or a sketch artist, a TV crew, or otherwise, I would step down from my words to the hierarchy of contemporary media. I am left with scribing all the visions held so clearly in my right brain into the left-brain's orderly explanation. What instantaneous gasp of delight can occur with reading text? Writing is one of the most courageous and impossible tasks of taking a moment and deconstructing and reconstructing it with as much certainty as possible.

Really, everything I have ever experienced, seen, created, or expressed could be simplified into one single word: Hope. The quality of believing in a world and a way of living that is outside the tragedy of being destroyed.