The three wiry images I draw with my left hand have left me wondering about sparseness. The gaps between everything is not a lack of substance - but substance itself. I go wondering from place to place - ocean to home - thought to thought, and the sparseness - the harshness of this landscape is, beautiful. High on the alpine tundra there are these wispy plants and when they flower, oh how they flower! Their intricacy is magnificent - I mean all flowers are - but something about the cold, high, arid places have brought out the best in them - there is a refinement I can’t see in a daffodil or rose - requiring a temperate climate. There is a persistence of beauty in the smallest detail that has had to eek out its place with a trying against all odds to be itself. And here we are, trying to be ourselves - in the harshest of climes. Away, alone - but not alone. We have the same moon. I gaze at it in the sea - perhaps you gaze at it night ward. We are connected - even though so very far away. This comes to me in writing - this ache of the heart - this knowing and not knowing what or how. But the longing persists and that is my divinity - my heart - groaning and aching - this is a gift of cosmic proportions - what will I do with the gift? Is a rainbow - is a knife - is like the glassy sea - is a storm of peace - and a tide that goes in and out - in and out - while the dogs howl and the chooks cluck their announcement of yet another pale, blue orb for my table. Life is beautiful! We are beautiful! You are beautiful, I have to say.