Tarmac ribbons criss-crossing the landscape, dusty back roads twisting between the cool shadows of ancient pines, and less traveled pathways connecting present to past, all I wander, seeking, seeing, with my keyboard and camera capturing scenes and stories to share with you.

Now in its seventh year, this venue has become an important part of my life, a place where I can express my thoughts and feelings about the things I see and do, hoping the process brings me a bit closer to friends and family who enjoy sharing my sometimes chaotic and often nonlinear observations and ideas. A journal, I suppose, but one with which I find pleasure in thinking others are alongside me on my journey.

Comments, thoughts, or just a friendly chat, use the response box below or email me at patrickgroleau@gmail.com.

March 4, 2012


"The dappled blue of the evening sky,
with the cloud-rack in the west,
All purpled bright in the living light,
Like the Islands of the Blest."

"And off the islands sweeps the wind
As much as the sails can hold,
As we race home through the rustling foam
And the grey waves laced with gold"


OLYMPUS E10-OLYMPUS 35-140@35MM-F5.6-1/20th-ISO80


... here's the original scan, from 3-1/2x5 color photograph ...

... and this is my restoration ...

... i think that's our car off to the left, dad never owned anything near as fancy as the one we're propped against ... i'm guessing this is spring of 1958, shortly before we drove to alaska ... those red suspenders were my most prized possession ... one morning in my west palm beach first-grade classroom i looked down and realized that i'd forgotten to put them on before i left the house ... i went into a total melt-down, locking my arms and legs into my little wooden school desk and refusing to move or cease wailing like a wounded cat ... the teacher had to call for the principal, who, unable to either cajole or pry me from refuge, was forced to send my personal super-hero, mike, sprinting all the way to our house to fetch the suspenders ... when my brother returned with the errant elastics, pouring sweat and panting to do pheidippides proud, he helped me hook the backside clasps, something i could never quite manage by myself, then nonchalantly returned to his studies ... i, of course, instantly reverted back to normal, as if nothing had happened ... my poor teacher, i can picture her years and years later, when the term "manic depressive" had become the vogue, muttering to herself, "ah, yes, that explains it all" ...