Thursday, December 30, 2004

"Cold?" he replied, his breath caught by the wind off the choppy, dark waters. "You ain't seen cold until you've spent a winter in the Bearing."

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

It wasn't as if the impending death of the year was giving him pause for concern, but rather he had an unpleasant ache in his head from too much coffee and not enough sleep.

Saturday, December 25, 2004

Even in the dawn, the white lights of the city set the sky ablaze, matched only by the rosey hue of the rising sun.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Warmth, tinged with the wind-driven moistness of the river, led me to fall into a slumber, oblivious to the clock driving to a splash of what was to come.

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Sleep often follows me from a different time zone.

Monday, December 20, 2004

Darkness comes early now, quickly spreading across the city like a cold wind. We ache for warmth and light.

Saturday, December 18, 2004

The morning sky begged forgiveness, bright with hope and brushed with the orange of the rising sun. I breathed in the cold air, thankful the night had brought me home.

Friday, December 17, 2004

He fell asleep with images of roads taken and roads not taken, choices made and choices not made, paths explored and paths left untread floating in his mind; branches and sequels had brought him to this moment in time, alone in his bed with the ghosts of personal history snuggled close to his warmth under the great, fluffy comforter.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

I'd dreamed of her soft, strawberry-blonde hair that framed her pale, long face; it was perfection to me. My illusions were shattered when Sarah told me the shade came straight from a bottle.

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Anger had burned the chocolate chip cookies: dark, crusty, blackened bottoms, they had been abandoned in piles on the counter, a message which spoke more than she wanted it to.

Friday, December 10, 2004

The rain was so thick he felt he was breathing-in water.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

Fog drifted above the waters, enveloping the night in the city's holiday glow.

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

We've moved from Pearl Harbor to the World Trade Center, caught with our pants around our ankles and a clear desire for blue skies to last forever.

Monday, December 06, 2004

The big car floated down the street as he sat back in the leather upholstery and lightly gripped the steering wheel, hot, humid air blowing in the open windows and jazz music blaring from car speakers.

Sunday, December 05, 2004

He brushed into the room, hell-bent on something unseen.

Saturday, December 04, 2004

The summer -- blueberries underfoot and a cool Maine fog surrounding all -- was lost to him as he trudged through the bitter city wind.

Friday, December 03, 2004

Words dripped from the pen like late autumn leaves: crinkled and hard, they fell in the fading afternoon light.