Truth is that life isn't fair. While some people seem to have it easy and never have a care, others suffer indignity and must go through great pain. No two people have it the same. They say money cannot buy you love, but if you gave me a billion dollars I am sure I could find some. The world is a fickle place, the haves and the have nots define the human race. Some people are born in a first world and some in a third, but many still live in the same ****, just by a different name, but poverty is poverty and little seems to change. Empires rise and kingdoms fall, while the poor and hungry remain. The rich and powerful build castles on high mountains or buildings that reach the sky, in hopes of not seeing what lays in the streets below. In all things death is the only equalizer, but in that there too seems to be disparity, depending on which religion you subscribe to as your reality.

Which people are real, can anyone really tell. Are they the ones we see on our TV's that feign drama and Botox injected smiles. Are real people the ones we see in the check out line. Waiting impatiently for an overworked cashier to ring up their over priced goods. Who are real people, where can we find them. Must we go to a far off land where war and poverty exist like a scene out of some horror show? Perhaps the answer is all of this and none of it. In a way these people are real at least to themselves and when they take off the mask behind which they hide, the real people that they become are revealed. Only those in their inner circles see the truth. For reality is what we perceive, and people are real in their existence, but they play a charade for others so we only see what they want us to believe is real.

In a desolate place that appears devoid of hope, I start to pick up pieces of paper and broken glass. With each bag I fill and send away, the ground becomes uncluttered. I move on to fixing fences and replacing pavement stones, then I paint a building. Through all of my toil, I have not noticed that things have changed, until I stop to wipe my brow and realize I am not alone. With each task I completed, someone saw me and copied what I did, until the word got around. One by one others came to join me, though they were not asked, they came anyway. A silent call went up and they saw my progress and wanted to be of help. With each act of kindness and each selfless deed, we moved towards the restoration of a once forgotten place. As I finally put my paint brush down and picked up my last piece of paper, I could swear that I heard children laughing at play. In the back ground I heard music and saw people dancing and then someone came up to me. I awoke from the dream and realized what I had seen. It only takes me to begin to rebuild hell and then God will send others to join in.

The wealth of the earth has been plundered by only a few. The many have suffered while others profit from their misery. In all things there are ways to accomplish life without the destruction and scarring of our world. Waste that is produced can be turned into fuel, and used to replenish the ground. Food can be grown in abundance so that no one need starve. If we stand together and demand a change, then we can turn the tide of destruction that has been wrought on us. The many will cease to suffer and the few will have enough, but will live in harmony with the planet that has made them rich. So let us roll up or sleeves and begin to renew our efforts to bring harmony and equilibrium to all life and in doing so, we can begin reclaiming our world.

The sun rises too early, I feel sick all over again. My head is supposed to be clear, but it hurts like hell! I am supposed to be getting better, but lately I just feel tired. I wish the world could be put back into focus, but they say that takes time. I want to go back so bad, but I know I can't. If I cross that line again, I may not come back. I am not used to getting up so early, but I know I must. If I ever hope to get back to where I started I have to move forward. I am not really sure how I got to where I was, but going down is easier than getting up. At the bottom you don't have much to worry about, just when you will get your next fix. This place says get high on life, but so far I don't see it. Each moment is a struggle just to stay alive. I want to go back, but I know I can't. If I cross that line then I might not survive. My only hope is to take each step forward in each day since I said enough! I thought anything was better than where I was, now I wonder if I was wrong? I didn't realize that it would be this hard and that recover would take so long.

Plastic rings clog up the oceans and dark pools of oil stain the shores where white sand once lay. Smoke fills our lungs and the air is darkened by ash and soot. We pour poison into our food and water and wonder why our children get sick. We believe that all things are never ending, but in reality all things are finite. We fight over ideologies and people starve when there is more than enough to share. So as the bodies pile up and species become extinct, we must ask ourselves, can we recycle the earth?

The doors to stores are closed, the churches are silent. The streets are empty and for a moment we can breathe. Some people live in fear, but to others a revival has come around. Children are sitting at the table, and mama is cooking in the kitchen while they ask her questions. Dad has the family bible and reads the word of God to his family. Checkers and Scrabble have been dusted off and have replaced the internet. Books left on the shelf are opened and stories are read by all. We are forced to rediscover what technology has taken away. Home was once just a place to sleep and store your stuff, but now it is so much more. Families are learning that they can  be with each other and find happiness together. Things don't make you happy and distance doesn't make the heart grow fonder. Rediscovering home has become a new great adventure.

I stop on the beach to see the harbor lights. I watch a ship coming in from time out at sea. As I listen to the waves wash up on the shore, I look up at the night sky. In my mind I think of all that I have gained and what I have lost. As I walk along the beach, silhouetted by a pail moon rising over the water. I begin to be at peace with decisions I have made. I take a deep breath of the salty air and resign myself to be content with the life that I have lived and the choices that I have made

Grandchildren running about at play. Sunny days under shade trees with lemonade. Laboring in a field to help a neighbor bring a crop. Listening to a friend talk about her problems at our favorite coffee shop. Walking by a river and sitting on a sandy dune with someone that I adore. Remembering my wedding day and the clothing that I wore. Recounting memories of a life well lived. Seeing the reflections of life and dreaming of what is still to come. Thinking about all of the could haves and all of the things yet to be done. Such are life's little moments when we reflect upon ourselves.

Flight from Fear as women and children are bound together by a tapestry of desperation. The walls of reality have crumbled like a story in some dusty book, it tears away any hope of salvation. Herded like cattle, from one gate to another, from one place to another. With wide eyes filled with fear of the unknown, their tears have become arid and dry. Screaming for a hand to reach in, they look on Beyond distant Horizons at fertile Plains, and desperate hope that help will come in time. Meanwhile, the ones that foment hate and unrest are behind them like a flood of Terror and before them are those who have engorged themselves on the wealth of the world. They stand behind High walls and iron gates with signs that say you're not welcome here. As the two points are squeezed, the unwashed masses in between lash out in anger and frustration. Turning backwards and forwards, then inwards on themselves. Where does Hope lie, they Howl in desperation. As the bodies fall and the stench Rises, apathy is the only reply they receive. Who then will be their salvation, and who will be blamed for the Lost Generations that remain in limbo while one group debates and another rages and hates, and neither does anything to help?

I look in the mirror and I don't like what I see. For years I have done what others wanted. I have been something I am not. Well today that all ends, I will no longer conform. I am tired of being hungry so I can fit into clothes that I do not like. I will no longer walk in shoes that are uncomfortable to me. I will eat until I am satisfied and wear my hear how I please. I will gains some weight if I want to and feel good in my own skin. I will voice my opinion even if others do not agree. Today I am reinventing myself, today I will finally be me.

Looking at my own reflection, I realized that I was not true to myself. I had always been what others wanted to see. In a moment of inspiration, I decided to throw caution to the wind and become who I though I should be. All of my wardrobe was put into a pile. Clothes will no longer match. I will wear what I feel and not what I am expected to. My hair that is always perfect, will sometimes be a hot mess. It is so much easier to not have that stress. I will read a book instead of watching the next hot movie. I will drink less coffee and more hot tea. I will get in touch with what is inside of myself. I will simply be the real  me.

The hour is long past and the year is soon to be done. The clouds of winter have gathered. The hearths are lit with warm fires and gifts are set aside to be given and received. In houses families gather for merriment and mirth, feasting and enjoying each others company. In this time when so much is about, forget not to remember another in need. In the truth of the spirit of the season, take that moment to be selfless. Show the kindness of grace that should fill the heart of all people and remember another if you can.

When you think you are alone, his arms are open wide. When you have fallen and think you can't get up, there is a nail scarred hand reaching out to you. When the burden seems too great to bear, there is a shoulder you can lean on. When you have lost all hope and are surrounded by the waves of despair, he will walk on the waves and carry you to shore. When you heart feels empty beyond reason, remember God loves you.

At last the guns are silent, the last soldier has fallen. The ground is covered in the remains of the dead. Two countries could not resolve their problems peacefully, so swords were drawn in anger, now many that have paid the price, are finally at rest. Their bodies are collected, letters are written to their families. The courage of their sons and daughters is made known. A day is set aside to honor the fallen, but will it truly change anything. The dead have no knowledge of the life they left behind. The families are left with memories and a hollow space to fill. While an honor guard is all that salutes them, as they are silently laid to rest. How much more precious blood must be spilled.

When you stop to say a prayer, please remember Steve. When you take though to care, please remember Steve. When you are feeling sad, please remember Steve. When your day is going bad, please remember Steve. When you are struggling with life, please remember Steve. When you find hope and light please remember Steve. In all things you are thankful for, please remember Steve.

Rummage through the refuse of what was my life and pull out the remnants of what is left of me. Dust off the fractured human that I am and look for the duct tape that can pull me back together. Find the missing pieces and sort through them. See what is needed to fill in the holes and use emotional putty to fill in those gaps. With time and patients, perhaps I can be made whole again .

Four padded paws and a cold wet nose. An anxious bark and shedding fur. A desire to run and chase a ball. A tail that wags and an apatite for chewing on old shoes. Loyal to a fault and devoted to the end. A neglected dog is mans best friend. So when you see one in a shelter cold and alone, think twice about not taking a dog home. Some just need a little love and attention to become the best friend you will ever see. So when you hear one bark, its likely the dog is saying rescue me.

Let us scream, let us rage. Let us refuse to accept the status quo. Let us make our voices heard. Let's us lift up our voices, let's us rattle the machine. Tell them we have a choice. We will dig in the  dirt and bring the foundations down, until the fat cats topple to the ground. So let them wring there hands in worry, we are not going anywhere. We shall force a change, we shall make them hear!

Beyond the first falling of snow, the trees glisten with icicles adorning their barren limbs. A pail sun hides behind clouds as it seeks rest from a seasonal journey. Sleep cloaks the land as things long for renewal. The earth moves slowly towards an apex where night out weighs the day. The long shadow is cast and the stage is reset for a new play to begin. The old year comes to end and gives way to new possibilities. Many will set forth lofty goals only to crash to the earth as a single snowflake lightly touching down. Then evaporating into the air as if it never was. Let a call go out that will echo among the snow covered peaks, a resolution shall be made, to simply do better than before and be of some help to another. Thus a resolution is made that perhaps we can keep.

Respect is not given it is earned. Actions speak louder than words. Giving instead of seeking to get marks true character. Letting others praise you instead of boasting on yourself is a sign of greatness. Offering to help when and where you can builds others confidence in you. Lifting another person up instead of putting them down shows the measure of who you are. All of these things are part of earning respect.

Beside deep waters and cool fields flowers, my soul finds peace. From burdens and long weary journeys, I come to sit for a while. Looking into the dark cool water at my reflection, longing to know my future. Forgetting my past or the labors that I went through. Seeking a divine connection with God. Hoping to become as the tree by the water or the rock upon which the house was built. I long for favor and strengthening of faith, that I may rest from my journey at the days end.

Oh how the world cares for it's own. How they amass fortunes but do not share. Oh how the things that money can buy will fade, and soon no one will care. My treasure is not kept in silver, it is not for others to behold. My wealth is held by my father, whose king holds wealth untold. A city made with out hands, whose foundations are of precious stones. With walls  of Jewels and streets of purest gold. So let the world forget me, and give me only meager fare, for in heaven I have laid up a fortune of riches beyond compare.

On a chestnut mare with a mane like gold dust, galloping down by a winding river. I lose myself in the motion of the horse as I feel the thundering hooves lift me off of the ground. With eyes closed, I hear the river rushing by and I imagine I am riding into battle. The horses snorts bring my heart to race inside my chest as I feel the morning sun on  my face. I open my eyes and lean forward taking tight hold of the reins. I kick the sides of the mare edging her on as the river narrows, I pull the reins right and jump across the deep rushing water, landing on a sand bar to the far side. With violent snorts the horse pulls up the steep bank and into the open field, where I again close my eyes in anticipation of a run to battle before my ride is done.

In a canoe I set out on still deep water, heading between tall pines and sand bars. I hear the tapping of a distant Wood Pecker looking for insects in a aged tree. I follow the flow of the water around a twisting bend. I look up from the river and  see turtles sunning on a log as I slowly float by. I look at green fields and I can see where perhaps a tribe of Cherokee once sat around their fires, with their Tee ***'s of deer and bear skin as their children played near the river bank. I hear the wind blowing through tall green Pines making them creak and wave as I sail by. Onward I paddle into swifter water as the river narrows, I sail past an old train bridge, where I see two barefoot children casting lines off of the faded wooden rails. On I go into the past, on dark water that flows over ancient river beds,  until at last I come to a boat ramp where I must return to the present and after spending time riding on the river.

I ride high above the clouds and look down below to the swirling winds. I take a deep breath and jump into the darkness. I fall endlessly into the abyss. I see the flashing lightning and hear the roar of the thunder I plunge through the blackness like a star falling from the heavens. I leave a trail of light behind me where I have parted the clouds and broken through the darkness. I spread my wings and take flight into the howling wind. Around and Around I go, looking for answers. I feel the cold chill of death surrounding me as the ice and rain cut to my core. Despite the harshness of the weather, I endure the torrents, plunging forward with a fierce resolve. Gathering all that I can before sailing back to earth. I leave all fear and worry behind as I have ridden the storm.

Just before sunrise beyond the sandy beaches of a never ending shore. I put out on a board and listen to the waves churn about me. I go out to the point where the horizon seems to join the sun. I turn my board towards the land and sit quietly and wait. Gulls fly overhead as I sit surrounded by others like myself, yet I am still alone. In one instance, the ocean begins to rise up. I paddle forward into the morning spray. The wave catches me and takes me forward. I am caught in the first curl of the day, as I try to become the master of myself while embracing the power of an ocean wave. I let it carry me and simply guide my board on the path it sets. Until the breaker subsides and I float into calmer waters. I settle into a lull and catch my breath, as I come off of an emotional high. Then I draw together my strength, and turn my board once more to the horizon, hoping to catch another wave before the day comes to an end.

Rising on silver wakes that crash on rocky shores. A good ship under your feet an wind in your sails. Steering across the break and running head long into morning. Looking at the fading moon like a far away lover. Pushing out on a board into the swirling tide, catching the curl of a high cresting wave. Swishing this way and that as you ride under the pipe, pulling out until you have mastered the wave. All things are on one ocean, both are attempting to master the sea. A mistress who's wishes are fair or furious depending on her mood. A certain kind of soul is possessed of a person who takes joy on the open seas and lives to be riding the tides.

I look out from a mountain top and let my sails unfurl. I rush forward and jump into the sky. On the invisible hand of the breath of the earth, I rise into the sky. The canvas billows into the wind and my soul soars. I feel the warmth of the sun as I draw closer to the edge of the heavens. The hue of light Blue turns into darker shades as I ascend on the invisible hand of the air. Turned this way and that in quick motions, I pull on the cords of my sails. The billowing silk forms a silhouette against sky as the sun reflects light off of silver clouds that form my new horizon.  For a few stolen moments, I have left the mortal constraints of the earth and risen to the highways where only Eagles dare to fly. As the distance fades and the wind lightens it's grip on me, I pull on my sails and let them take me softly earthward. As the forms of the earth begin to take shape, I feel a bit of emptiness. Part of my soul remains in the heavens and is caught by a strong breeze where for a moment, I was riding the wind where ever it would take me.

Born into disadvantage, given to oppression I will not let these things define me. Brought up with courage and the strength of my convictions. I push forward everyday. Through the forge of life I am heated by fire, hammered into a vessel, purer in my resolve than the finest gold. To the heights that Eagles dare to soar, I rise above my circumstances. I blaze my own path and defy the odds. I will be held back by no man, nor will I be told what I cannot do. Like an Acorn that was laid low into the dirt, I will rise with the strength of a mighty Oak, as I let my branches push up towards the sun. Until I have obtain my destiny that I forged by an unbreakable spirit and the willingness to work for what I want out of life.

Burn in tribulation and let the fire purge your soul! Walk into the flames of trial and let yourself be made stronger. Let the old constructs be destroyed and new ones be forged from the molten core of your being. Become as Gold or Silver from the smelter. Dust off the afflictions and take your place in a new creation, where you will become what you are destine to be.

Look at the white water that runs over the jagged rocks, follow it through the rapids. See streaks of sliver dashing through the current and settling where the water stills and runs deep. Look into the pool and see the minnows swim about, that were moments ago in rapids up stream. Listen to the splash on the banks as Otters slide down muddy banks in play. Walk quietly on to a sand bar and watch a turtle laying her eggs. Search on a muddy bank and in the shallow pools for arrow heads that show signs of a civilization long forgotten. Watch a Golden Eagle sitting on the cleft of a high rocky face, looking into the water below for a large fish to feed its young. See the sun begin to set and hear the frogs as they croak and groan from the reeds. Such is river life for those who are willing to see it and admire the diversity of nature.

Splendid maiden with hair like fine linen, silver braids that blow in the wind. Walking from among trees filled with glints of fair wings she steps out into the water and immerses herself in the cool running stream. Nymphs sing to her as she goes under, into the **** bed she wraps herself in a green shroud. Then she rises out of the water, her pail form covered as the sun shines down on her. She lets the green shroud fall to reveal her body, her curves are revealed as her long hair lays down over her body. She shakes off the silver droplets and pulls her hair up upon her like a crown. She sinks her toes into the warm sand as she lays out on a Lilly pad next to a frog warming itself. A warm breeze blows by and she feels her body stir. Off of the pad and onto a Water Lilly, she calls out softly as a fish comes and pushes the flower along. Down the river she goes, her magnificent form enchanting any who may happen to see her. The daughter of nature, a river princess crowned in beauty and grace by magic and creation.

You don't need a reason to show me your love. You can let me know it anytime you like. What I feel for you cannot be killed. No one can come between us, no matter how they try. I love when you do special things to show me you care, but just having your love is special to me. So if you want to shower me with gifts then it's all right with me. You do not need a special occasion to let me see your love. Give me flowers if you like, I like Roses any day.

Life is not all ways happy and clowns are just plain creepy. Bubble gum is fun until you get braces, then it is just an expense for your parents. It is fun to get flowers, but not always the same kind. Who says you have to give Roses, can't it be Pansies sometime?

The ground leading from the hill was rocky. The earth was hostile to life. When a precious soul died on the cross, precious blood was spilled. As his body was taken down and carried to the tomb, drops of his sacred blood stained the ground. Quietly he lay for 3 days then he rose up and was gone. What happened next was miraculous, and many could not believe, but then they considered who had died and rose again so it was no wonder what they saw. On the path from the hill to the tomb where each drop of blood had stained the earth, a Rose came forth and bloomed in the brightest Red hue that had ever been seen. The flowers were mesmerizing and had an aroma that could not be explained. The smell filled the air like sweet morning due, then after a few days the flowers were gone. From then on at an appointed time, along a rough stony path leading from a rocky hill, Roses would regrow each year as though they knew something we did not. Perhaps the fact that they are there is enough, a testimony that he is alive still.

In a circle we turn. The wheel goes around and around. Life repeats itself over and over. Try as we might we cannot get off of the merry go round . Like a dog chasing it's tail we never seem to catch up. In the circle of repetition of life.

I was on a lonely stretch of highway, between there and no where, when I saw a blonde in a red sports car speeding by me on the highway. I felt a chill run over me and I stared at her car disappearing in the distance. For a moment I could have sworn that she winked at me, as she shot on by. Looking in my rear view mirror, I was a large white car coming out of the waves of heat rising up from the open asphalt. As it approaches, I can hear the music flowing from it's speakers. I look in my mirror and see a man with dark hair and sun glasses. The drop top is down in his classic Cadillac. As he pulls along side of my car, I see he is dressed all in white. The Rhinestones of his jacket glisten in the western sun. From behind dark sunglasses he smiles at me and points a finger at me. He then drives on into the distance, rock and roll spilling out of his car like water on to a thirsty desert. On I go, one by one people pass me by. I feel as if I know them some how. The as the sun begins to set in the west, I pass by the coast and I see ghostly images on the side of the road. They wave at me and the blonde from the sports car blows me a kiss. I feel a warm breeze touch my cheek. I settle back as I head on to California, realizing I have been in on a little part of history, as I travel along route 66.

Down a dry dirt road, an old house sits beside a knotted Oak Tree. Children in overalls with bare feet run and play. An old tire swing sits tied to I Willow tree branch. It has seen better days having been swung in a thousand times. Around a bend in the old road, sits a string of mail boxes, visited each day by the mail carrier, he always has time to stop and chew the fat a while with the old widow folk before going back on his way. Beyond that there is an old iron clad bridge where people go to sit and talk, or to cast a line in the river as it flows slowly by. All of this is off the secondary highway, down rural route 2 a dusty memory in my mind.

Melodies that elicit tears. Notes of sorrow from the keyboard of an old piano. In smoky bar rooms and dimly lit cocktail lounges, people with broken hearts come to drown their sorrows and listen to a crooner sing about their misery. A lonely lady or a sad gentleman will frequent the haunted halls of broken hearts. Listening to a melody played out a thousand times and waiting to be played a thousand more. The sad song of loneliness will play as they attempt to drink their sorrows away to this old familiar tune.

On the open water, waves crashing around the hull. Pulling the wheel and turning tight to catch the wind. The single sail rises full and the canvas glistens against the sun. It is in these moments that I can clear my mind. No power to guide me, just the will of the wind to drive me. I am at the mercy of the air and the sea. Beneath the open sky feeling the salt spray and the warmth of the sun, here is where I relish my solitude.

On calm green waters, under clear blue skies. I see broad white canvas stretched by the pull of the wind. Gentle white breakers lap at the hull of my vessel as I run through the trades seeking a favorable current to take me to a quiet harbor just outside of paradise. In a quiet cove the sun begins to set, its golden rays highlighting the form of a love that I have not known yet. Lost in a vision of what I hope will come, I awake from sailing in a dream back into the reality that fate has chosen for me.

Brisk are the winds that blow on the seas. Raise now the sails and cast out upon the white waves into the deep blue sea. Look lively and trim the jib, pull back on the wheel and set the rudder true. Remember the last night and the dark hair maiden that stole your heart and a few coins from your purse. Hold fast as we break forth into the unknown. Looking to a star to guide us, off we go for fortune and glory. Farewell to our native home and look clear eyed, fasten the anchor tight. It will be a long journey and many a lonely night before we see dark haired maidens or drink good ale again.

I spill my misery into a cup full of tears and drink the bitter fruit of loneliness. My heart is filled with the poison of a broken love. I cast my eyes downward and let the tears flow. I have no life in me and my strength is spent, since you departed and took my heart with you. All that is left is the bitter taste of the cup from which I drink, that is seasoned with the salt of my tears.

Walking by the waters edge at the fall of twilight, you can see the silhouette of ships coming up the waterway into ports. They come with treasures from foreign lands, bringing their bounty to southern shores. The smell of the ocean stirred up by the evening breeze makes you feel alive. Lights come on at the water front as restaurants offer their wares, seafood freshly caught from the depths of the dark Atlantic ocean. Gulls cry over head as they catch the last bits of the sea breezes before heading off to some quiet perch to wait for the sun to come again. As night sets in, beyond the waterfront, rows of stoic houses from a time long past are lit up with gas lamps that cast haunting shadows over black iron gates. The Spanish moss hangs from old oak trees that have seen more than their share of life, like an elegant beard to be reverenced. The cobble stone streets make a tapping sound beneath your feet as you walk to a grand fountain just off of the main square. Then as the moon rises a golden yellow over the surrounding city, you can see the images of ghostly figures from the past walking as wisp from a different time. Then when you feel a night chill, you know it is time to take your rest in the comfort of cotton sheets with the window open towards the water, so that cool breezes can comfort you and the morning sun will wake you in Savannah.

The rivers run yellow with poison and the government does not care. The air if filled with pollutants and the trees cannot breathe. All of the toxins are drawn up and collected in the clouds, then fall down on us again. Now are lakes are polluted and our fish are dying and we can't seem to find someone to blame. How much more destruction must we endure, before someone will save the rain.

Cuts and gashes inflicted on me by society, I bear the marks of battle. Where flesh was torn and emotions were bled out of my veins by cruelty and spite, I bandaged the wounds and healed the places as best as I could. Now scars adorn my body, not that I was beautiful anyway. I have survived the crucible of hate and venom thrown at me and now I am stronger for it. Though some are repulsed by my appearance, my scars tell my tale. Each one was won through adversity and hard fought battles. Now I stand above the fray and I ware my scars as a coat of honor for all of the world to see.

Burn the ground and leave nothing behind. Tear down the trees and the buildings. Level the mountains and flatten out the hills, release the molten rock of rage. Lava pours out of cracks like ooze from a festering wound. The earth trembles and quakes. Nature takes hold and sets the balance again, mans interference is not welcome! Wiping the slate clean to let something new take hold. This is what creation and renewal are about, being born from piles of ash and what appears to be chaotic destruction. Nature scorches the earth and cleans itself up so that it can start again.

My insides are tied in knots. My face is flush with rage! How dare he do me this way! My blood boils and my teeth grind as my eyes narrow their focus. There he goes smiling as if nothing happened, he will soon regret how he treated me. He will know what it means to be a woman scorned.

A woman stains her white shirt and show frustration, I pull out my pad and draw down the design that she has made. She cries that her shirt is ruined, until I offer to buy it from her. A young child on a sidewalk drops ice cream on the hot pavement. The child cries as it splatters, but I take a picture before it evaporates, then I offer the child a dollar to settle her down. In ordinary things that others find annoying, I can find some of my best and most creative ideas.