Why is red the color of love?

When I want a feel for a town, I don’t head for Main Street. That’s for the tourists and TripAdvisor junkies. For me, nothing gives an unvarnished feel for a place like an alley.

Wedged between a large man and the plane window, I wonder where else in our society a person has to have constant contact with a stranger for four straight hours.

Sunlight is often playful. Today it sneaks through a window in the room where I am prepping for a meeting and selects one word out of all that I’ve written. Challenges. Is that some kind of sunny joke?

Her face is striking, even seen through the window of a moving car: pale, beautiful, slightly anxious. I only catch a glimpse as we pass. Later, I have to walk back to get a better look.

Traffic is moderate on the dreaded I-95 when my phone reminds me to pay attention. The industrial landscape around Baltimore did not look very promising for a post. But then, ahead, I saw it.

If you were to have one image to communicate who you were to the world, would you smile? What might you hold in your hands? What background would you choose?

Having had enough of the cold, I am in my house, trying to see something in a new way. My tiny rose bush catches my attention. It is surprisingly healthy.

Out in the woods, there is a layer of sound in silence. One has to get seriously quiet to hear all the noise.

For today’s exercise in random association, I will attempt to connect logo design, classic black gospel music and a box full of jewels. Ready?

Using the overhang at the entrance of the hotel to shield us from the rain, my grandson and I are watching the skies intently. We strain to see movement or hear distant honking.

As I stand in the middle of a wide field, the morning sun glints off the frosted blades of grass as if the turf is strewn with diamonds. Is this what I am to notice today?