the way home

          “But every memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance, written in the heart in the hope that memory will fulfill itself, and become flesh, and that the wanderers will find a way home, and the perished, whose lack we always feel, will step through the door finally and stroke our hair with dreaming, habitual fondness,…


             walking at night, drinking the rain, nourishes the imagination              

hiding in the magnolia


land among the stars

                              but the stars are falling     Westborough State Hospital (psychiatric hospital) 1848 – 2010          

the old couple

            two old souls hanging out ragged around the edges perfectly comfortable