To write is human, to receive a letter: Devine!

Optimism is life with sprinkles on top.

Autumn flings her fiery cloak over the sumac, beech and oak.

Half is better than none unless it be of a wit.

Ever poised on that cusp between past and future, we tie memories to souvenirs like string to trees along life’s path, marking the trail in case we lose ourselves around a bend of tomorrow’s road.