Stubborn winter drags on and on it seems transiently coming and going, an itinerant artist drawing frigid lines on a dull grey canvas while I … aimless, I sit and stare in wonder.
Have I ever seen the sky descend so gently? But then, how could I even know? Is it possible that each flake might evoke such a distinctive image floating in my mind?
Of course not. For how could it do so? It is not for the enduring elements of this world to impress themselves on my ephemeral thoughts but for me to pay them the heed that they deserve.
I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...
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