"Our very life depends on everthing's

Recurring till we answer from within."

-Robert Frost-

"Snow"

I have the honor of house sitting this week in a place that is as close to my dream home as I have ever been.  I happily sit here in the quiet of a mountain cabin as the snow falls deeper from the open air.  After my last noisy home I feel the tension slowly drain from my mind and limbs.  Time stands still here; stuck on pause for the retired owners.  I can think, I can dream again.

Life has been fitful as of these last few weeks.  The skies are grey, winter is endless, the snow is dirty, the girl lets me leave, and I am the crushed flora and fauna on the forrest floor waiting for spring.  My work has taken a hit and that is what has depressed me more than any of the rest.  The noise of my past home started eating away my already weakening concentration.  It was beginning to get to be to much work just to make my self think of work.  -This by the way is a great indication, for the artist, that you need to do something different.-  I moved out.  I am a bum right now and maybe I should feel shame but that wouldn't change my actions so what is the point.