Two Rainy Days in New York City
Broadway is back! And, boy, how I have missed it. "Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise." - Les Miserables
Beware. Witch lives here.
The young girl's room was enveloped in blackness. She lay in her narrow bed, her eyes wide open. Sleep would not come. A combination of fear and pain guaranteed that it would be a long night. Her eyes darted around the room, finally coming to rest on the thin white curtain covering her window. It blew in the light breeze, like a haunting spirit. Pale light from the nearby waterfront filtered through the translucent cloth, casting fluid shapes on the wall.
The Nose Knows
Which of the five senses is the most important to you? Is it your sense of taste, smell, touch, sight, or hearing? If you are like most people, you probably answered either sight or hearing. If you asked your dog, however, his choice would be the sense of smell.
Boos on Broadway: A Halloween Playlist
After more than a year of darkness due to the pandemic, the lights of Broadway are shining brightly once again. And I, for one, am ready for those curtains to part, transporting me and the audience on a shared journey. Live performances affect us in palpable ways, building empathy and nurturing compassion. Of course, they also take us to the darker sides of humanity. As soon as box offices opened, I planned a weekend to New York City. This month I’ll be attending Moulin Rouge and Six, in addition to two traveling Broadway shows, Waitress and Pretty Woman, in Washington DC before the end of year.
Waking the Witch
And it's my whole heart Weighted and measured inside And it's an old scar Trying to bleach it out (Florence + the Machine)
A Late-Bloomer's Coming of Age
“Never did the world make a queen of a girl who hides in houses and dreams without traveling.” ― Roman Payne Coming of age. Growing up. Reaching adulthood. It happens at different ages, depending on the culture. As a perpetual late-bloomer, it truly didn’t happen for me until my early twenties. Even though I’d lived on my own intermittingly from the age of 18, there was always the safety net of being near my hometown. I knew people and could ask for help if the need arose.
They came closed, expectant with colorful promise Twelve apologies, fresh and fragrant, on a spring morning They opened slowly, delighted at sun's attentive rays
Inhaling the brackish breath of Espichel In a dreamlike stance of recognition. My numb heart sprouts newly born wings