What could one do to create a buffer from the tempests of tragedy, would staying In the comfort zone help to minimise the risk.
I have always confronted the wind, faced its turmoil, was blown off course, often marooned by my alcoholic amnesia.
I’m back, and on that same island which ebbed me into a receeding tide, with little to sustain buoyancy but my imagination, cast adrift, with a bottled up message for the world.