My Secret Agenda Is To Convey My

The Leaves Let Go, The Seeds Let Go, And I Must Let Go Sometimes, Too, And Cast My Lot With Another Of Nature’s Imperfect But Tenacious Survivors.

Goldfish And Hamsters And White Mice And Even The Little Seed In The Styrofoam Cup-they All Die. So Do We.

The Winding Down Of Summer Puts Me In A Heavy Philosophical Mood.

I Know What I Really Want For Christmas. I Want My Childhood Back. Nobody Is Going To Give Me That. I Might Give At Least The Memory Of It To Myself If I Try. I Know It Doesn't Make Sense, But Since When Is Christmas About Sense, Anyway? It Is About A Child, Of Long Ago And Far Away, And It Is About The Child Of Now. In You And Me. Waiting Behind The Door Of Or Hearts For Something Wonderful To Happen. A Child Who Is Impractical, Unrealistic, Simpleminded And Terribly Vulnerable To Joy.

An Artists Job Is To See. And To Go Out In The World And See It Firsthand, Just As It Is; To Report With Line And Words What Is Seen. To Be In The World, Not Just Study About The World, That Is The Artists Task