It's so hard to find words these days. They've hidden themselves from me, perhaps as a shield from the endless fog in my mind.
Perhaps a shield from the reality.
Writing is my instrument for truth. Without it, I can neither make distinction between fiction and reality, nor right and wrong.
This is a right ol' mess.
P.S. I never got to see my dearest Billy Collins. Maybe there is hope for the Jason Mraz concert----if fate wills it.