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.

May 12, 2015


To be happy, it first takes being comfortable being in your own shoes.
The rest can work up from there.


 ... on a little walkabout i took notice the soldier standing post in the park ...

... even after the passing of more than forty years, still i could recite:

"I will quit my post only when properly relieved."

... as i walked away i saw another had remembered, too ...

So, when the summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day,
Wet with the rain, the Blue
Wet with the rain, the Gray.


... "push me," walker so very politely demanded, he who only a short time ago would become quite nervous if the chains swayed more than a foot or two from the vertical, now he was most insistent, "higher ... higher ... higher, mister grow-low" ... from the deep recesses of my mind the refrain stirred the sweet voice of a little girl, "higher ... higher ... higher, daddy," soon to be chorused by another voice, one a bit more stridently commanding, "higher, dad ... higher ... higher ... higher" ... and then—

—then came a tiny voice i didn't recognize at first, muted, as if buried beneath all the voices i've ever heard ... giggling—laughing—unabashedly screaming, "higher ... higher ... higher, poppa" ... it was then in the small of my back i felt the powerful presence of him pushing me ...

... so i cried, because, after all, even if it was a long, long time ago, what else is there to do in the remembrance of he who, teaching it was perfectly acceptable to defy gravity, served booster rocket a little boy's first flight to the stars ...

"Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air....

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark, or even eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
- Put out my hand, and touched the face of God."