In the cellar to get laundry, I am once again surprised by the sight of ripe cherry tomatoes.

The Empire State Building looms outside my window like a giant hypodermic needle.

This morning, my pareidolia is acting up.

The candle appears like an apparition in my darkened room, aglow without a flame.

I ask Kim simply, “What do you look for?”

I can pinpoint the moment when my dark mood began to lift.

The sculpture caught me by surprise, like some malevolent spider on the wall.

As I wander around this small, tourist town, I just keep thinking, “Why lighthouses?”

This is the best 8:18 moment in a century.

It’s our fourth time and it isn’t getting any easier.

I’m walking in downtown Houston when a sign gets all in my business.

If change is inevitable, why is it so painful?