Everyday is a rewrite, the opportunity to redraft the first verse.  My purple high-tops strike the sidewalk as I converse in morse code.

Regrets?

Just a few thoughts can lead us astray.  

Today I'm the poem walking upon a blank slate, re-painting the canvas within...

A Mediterranean heat warms my back. 

Her laughter still echoes, another reminder of those sun-drenched days.

Mountain tops, snow covered...

A mountain-biker with the funky frame, the picnic bench, the poems.

Walking, wandering, contemplating the first draft.