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 sixth 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.

February 13, 2015

FOR ALL, BUT ESPECIALLY THOSE AWAITING THE STORM

... 8°f out, john and i made a little wanderabout down to manchester ... we stopped for breakfast, then visited longfellow's greenhouse so he could get a pretty plant for his sweetheart ... listening to the radio weatherperson once again predicting "up to two feet of snow and blizzard conditions," i'd special thoughts for all my nearby family and friends:

I am a kind word uttered and repeated 
By the voice of Nature; 

I am a star fallen from the 
Blue tent upon the green carpet.

I am the daughter of the elements 
With whom Winter conceived;  
To whom Spring gave birth;

I was 
Reared in the lap of Summer and I 
Slept in the bed of Autumn. 

At dawn I unite with the breeze 
To announce the coming of light; 

At eventide I join the birds 
In bidding the light farewell. 

The plains are decorated with 
My beautiful colors, and the air 
Is scented with my fragrance. 

As I embrace Slumber the eyes of 
Night watch over me, and as I 
Awaken I stare at the sun, which is 
The only eye of the day. 

I drink dew for wine, and hearken to 
The voices of the birds, and dance 
To the rhythmic swaying of the grass. 

I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath; 
I am the memory of a moment of happiness; 
I am the last gift of the living to the dead; 
I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow. 

But I look up high to see only the light, 
And never look down to see my shadow. 
This is wisdom which man must learn.

SONG OF THE FLOWER XXIII
Khalil Gibran



... on the ride home john and i talked of the wanderabout to the gaspe we're planning for this summer, and, for the most part, avoided picture taking because, to be honest, we're just a tiny bit tired of this winter ...