Big Moves, Sandhill Cranes and Writing


Please don’t gasp. Yes, I’m actually writing a blog post and not just relying on other talented bloggers to fill my pages. Okay, now you can gasp.

Actually I’m writing on my own blog because I have a guest post coming up in November and thought it might be nice to add a bit to my blog.

As some of you know I recently moved from my ‘home’ in Thailand back to the States. I must stop referring to my move as it’s beginning to sound a touch tacky, but I do still miss the quiet of Thailand.

We moved to a fascinating spot on the East coast of Florida called the Treasure Coast. That in itself got my attention. It’s called the Treasure Coast because of the number of Spanish galleons that sank off the coast during storms. To date I haven’t found any bullion or jewels lying about on the beach, but I do keep my eyes open while fishing.

My expectations of the move back far exceeded reality for me. Actually my wife, who was born in Thailand, wanted this return. Don’t get me wrong. I love America and the cornucopia of different people that live here. I just… well, the truth is I’m a recluse by nature and I’m pretty sure it’s in my genetic makeup, so I enjoy solitude.

STOP THE PRESS: My wife just yelled to come look. There was a raccoon looking in the front window. She, my wife, loves wildlife—as long as there is a window between her and the action. One other thing I enjoy about this area is the abundance of wildlife. We are in a Sandhill Crane area and everyday families come to our yard in pursuit of insects buried deep in the ground. The birds are beautiful and can be very loud, but that doesn’t happen often. My first encounter with a family of cranes was exciting. I was outside closing a window I had been repairing and I heard… you know the noise the Velociraptors made in Jurassic Park while searching for prey? Well that’s what I heard. I turned to find a male crane with its wings spread six feet wide and those prehistoric eyes staring at me while protecting its mate and young one. I excused myself while moving slowly to the door. We’ve made friends since then even though I refuse to feed them.

Osprey Nest

Osprey Nest

Featured image



Now, where was I… The biggest problem with our move back was my muse refused to move with me. She was happy in a land far away.  The good news is, as of late, she has been stopping by for visits trying to determine if she likes the new surroundings. I have my own office with a real desk and that seems to help. I can look out my window—which I do a lot lately—and see the canal and open space behind our little house to give the illusion of being all alone. I do have some very fine neighbors and not only are they friendly but quite an eclectic group from different parts of the States, England and the islands too.

And so goes my return to life in the States. The jury is still out, but if my muse stays then so will I. I’m also trying to learn the new posting method for WordPress, so please forgive the lack of… extra stuff

Have you made any big moves that disrupted your routine?



My Muse



My muse is delicate, needful, loving, punishing.
She often sits on my shoulder wearing a sheer wrap,
inciting me.
When I abide in other than her will, a wraith swirls,
watching my every move; coaxing my thoughts.
She has no time for other than her wants.
What reason could I have to ignore her?

I bend—bow—to thoughts piercing my dreams and she smiles.
Knowing I am hers.
My mind becomes that of a child,
I feel her warm touches of contentment.
Words, plots, characters, dance to my fingertips,
leading to I know not where,
but with confidence as my muse smiles.
Open mind with only a guide that brings words,
and shuts the world away.
I live, breathe, feel and need, only my words,
that my muse cuddles and sends with happiness.
I am hers, she is mine, we are together
in a world of our own making.

When all is complete
and I must turn to others to finish my task.
She pouts and grumbles but gives time,
Oh, so little time.
She will leave and not watch her servant
while he does what he must, for her.
But only for a beat in time.
I feel her impatience to be on the hunt again.
I give in.