Living Morganism

The last road trip I took of any great length was in relocating back to Boulder, CO from Ontario after a summer of living in my tent following graduate school. I don't recommend moving into a tent after finishing grad school, it doesn't make you feel great about your choices. Unless you want to live in a tent. I drove out of Canada, picked up my friend Lionel in Kalamazoo, MI  -of all places to find him- and then we proceeded to cross the plains during a terrible drought that had rendered all the miles of cornfields dead and damned apocalyptic in appearance.  I've been in Boulder since trying to roll with the flow while the flow has been whipped into a frenzy by the wild gales of life and learning. It has been a year of transition.  It's been a year and change since that trip and the universe in all its conspiracies has propelled me onto the road once again. This time rather then a homecoming, it's a departure for Lionel, off into the wild blue southern Colorado y

It rains, a rare enough occurrence in arid Colorado. This morning though, looking up out the back door, the sky above is blue with only a few small clouds and still it rains right through the sunshine. The rain is magical here. Sitting at the kitchen table with my french press full of coffee I am enjoying the sound of rain immensely as it quenches the garden, bounces off the now shimmering leaves of the intoxicating mock orange tree and pours here and there out of downspouts onto such surfaces as the brick patio, the questionably legal water barrel and our struggling lawn. Now my rather romantic rainy reverie is broken by the alarm I set for the loaf of rye bread I popped in the oven an hour ago. The rain is too ephemeral. It’s already done and small white butterflies flit about the mock orange to the tune of an occasional soft drip. The garden here is wild and in desperate need of weeding to the eye of a gardener, but I generally leave it to be as is, not fully sure how much owner

Dear Facebook [originally published there, republished here for Sarah Osborne], we both know I am too verbose for this to ever work. I would apologize for my selfish ways but I will never curb this habit and so it would be terribly insincere of me to do so. I suppose I could publish this instead on one of my many blogs but I'm pretty sure only Sarah Osborne would see it there. I might post it there just for her anyway. A few days ago I purchased a less than shiny but nonetheless glowing in a new-to-me sort of way cherry red bicycle. I am in love with it. We've had such wonderful times together already in our still fresh and short affair. I was just riding it home from my favourite coffee shop in downtown Boulder which was beginning to wind down for the night anyway and I was beginning to develop a fierce and insistent hunger for the avocado I'd been meaning to eat these past few days. Perhaps in part due to the feeling of joy I experience riding this bicycle, perhaps i