The world is always in motion, and even our sense of stillness exists only in the lack of perception of that movement. While we sleep, we continue to zing circles around in space. Inside our dozing bodies, millions of little planets and stars also complete their orbits in a ballet that may continue down smaller than the merest quark, and loom larger than the vastness of the universe.

There is no stillness. Even when we might one a given day silently cry out for a moment's rest, that rest comes only in our choosing to ignore the ever-present reality that is life in all its orchestration.

A string of flutes sounds the wail of a birthing baby (or two, as is the case in my solar system of friends and family this week), and Anabella and Corrina take their places in the cast. Timpanis thunder out a message I long ago thought I understood, and the lack of understanding is a solo violin. Trumpets sound as I publish a second printing of my chapbook (get them while they're hot, anyone who hasn't yet ). Another friend, in the filtering, harmonized strains of clarinets, has his life turned upside down with conflicting joys: another baby singing its way toward him, a school he was accepted to but cannot attend, a path dividing. A gift is given, and not accepted, crashing cymbals stunning in their vibration. Relatives from a very far place visiting just past my reach, but I will join their motion soon, and stumble north to see what the next Movement will be.

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My Chapbook, Something in the Water, has been reprinted due to demand! if you haven't ordered a copy and want one, Note me today - I'm visiting family this weekend, so these puppies may be going out the door fast.


Montserrat Poetry Festival, 2010 -- mark your calendars for Sunday, May 23, 2010!