Learning (Page 9)

Looking at the sun through a neutral lens filter for a camera.

The human condition (thoughts)

Are we capable of looking at others
through a lens unfiltered by judgment,
not colored by preconceptions?
Are we capable of unconditional love?

[continue]. . .

A young couple is sitting on a gray couch with green pillows, during an argument. The woman is looking away, with a stern expression on her face. The man is looking at her with his mouth agape, eyes wide, arms bent at the elbow with palms up, as if to say, "What did I say?!" This image is isolated on white background

Heroes (a poem)

Heroes stand tall,
for those who feel small,
lifting their spirits to the sky.

Lost courage regained,
we move past the pain,
never again asking why.

[continue]. . .

A damaged and rusty yellow and red road sign with a black illustration of a man digging with a shovel sits beside a road, alerting drivers to road work ahead. Beyond the sign, evidence of road work is seen: overturned dirt, a roadside orange caution cone with a wide white horizontal-stripe, and a crumpled section of orange and white caution tape.

A Work in Progress (a poem)

I am a work in progress,
unfinished, incomplete.
Each day I grow in knowledge,
most learned here on the street.

[continue]. . .

Paper cut-outs of people's arms and the Earth. Each of the pieces is wrinkled, and the arms overlap each other. The arms are cut from many different colors of paper, which is reflective of the diversity of the human race. The Earth is cut from blue and green papers. All of the hands are pointed inward, toward the Earth.

Life is serenely complicated.
Some people try to stand out,
and by doing so hope to fit in
with others who do the same.
Me, I never wanted to stand out,
to be different, but I am.
I guess we all are, in our own way,
different that is.

[continue]. . .

A young woman lies inside a large book, using a branch to prop it open, and reads by flashlight under a night sky.

Did I just have an epiphany? I think I did. (article)

I woke up around three o’clock in the morning, again.
This time it was with the realization that I,
or at least the characters in my stories,
live in the past.

(393 words)

[continue]. . .