let open to drop like 

into the allegorical canal 

those passages that once connected 

   us 

         you do not care,

 you were never there 

    your words upon my wall were never there at all

our conversations of forgotten dreams

a dimension has left the conversation 

that is the one I miss 

perhaps I saw what was never there 

Side street mystery; Post haste

It is at the post office where Pierre Reaux bumps into Faun

He looks awkward when all his papers go flying. Faun run to help him and when she gathers his papers he begrudgingly smiles. He wears a black hst. Somewhat fedora you might say, but on him it becomes another article entirely. 

Awkwardly he says,

“we might have got off to a bad start, Miss—Mizzz—“

“Just Faun is fine,” she coolly asserts the papers under his coat covered armpit like a friendly jab, “there you are, all sorted.”

She starts to step away but he follows her,

“excuse me—Mzz—Faun, madamme— I just wondered if I could talk to you for just one moment of your time?”

Faun paused just a step to look at him but continued to the yellow Volvo anyway, 

“Is there something you want, Monsieur Reaux?”

“Well….as you know my jurisdiction is only as far as the Canadian border—“

“Yet we find you here so frequently,” Faun stopped to smile now 

“Yes well…. You have the Sam’s Club and the Walmart….” he scratches his jaw thoughtfully as he tries to seem casual 

“You come here to shop at Walmart?” she looks at how he is dressed. Three piece suit and that trench coat was far from Columbo 

He is inspecting his nails as he smiles looking back up at her,

“not me, Mz Faun—but most of the characters I must investigate do tend to frequent such places.”

He says all this with his heavy French Canadian accent whilst twisting his mustache absently 

“So how can I help you today?” she asks now 

“You are still running the bookshop for the Bishops?”

She waits a moment to reply. She looks at his expression to read him. 

“I am. The chief of police over there could have told you whatever you’d like to know,” she watched his face.

“Have you remained in contact with Monsieur Grant?”

Faun sensed it was about him somehow 

“Why do you ask?”

“Because it seems he may need your help.”

the Side Street Mystery

thoughts of return?

et ainsi, un autre automne que nous ne rencontrerons jamais.

Notes in effort to find if there is purpose

When you think about the world or the earth, maybe it’s just me, but I wonder about how much it’s valued. 

Looking to move off to Mars

Sometimes I think about the earth this way

Like a ship that has treasures that may one day get lost in a dark abyss

Do connections matter?

Would we remember earth as well and fondly care if there were no physical evidence left? What would Shakespeare mean without Stratford upon Avon or the Globe theatre; a notion; an idea

who would know to feel to care and feel affection for the wistful romance upon the steps of the Montmartre or understand with true amusement what is behind that hidden glory of the architectural reason for the Dutch gables 

Are connections part of the individual whole because of their relation to 

those that know their value 

as it serves to define and measure the individual’s meaning 

Some notes; a side work I’ve been exploring

 

I have always been interested in art movements. When creative minds come together and a great renaissance is born is something to behold among art lovers. 

When we think of how minds shape cultures and what match lit the fire we search for those sources. We search because we wish to see how the ideas were born.