I woke the other day with a fierce need to be around running water. I took a bath, and then still, a shower after that. I stood by the sink and listened to the water running down the drain. Finally, I informed vogue of this odd desire which was consuming me, and she decided to take me hiking the next morning where we could settle ourselves by a rushing creek and twiddle our time away.

This we did on Sunday, and the dogs, too, accompanied us. We laid out a blanket of the course sand and she played with her tarot cards while i searched the rocks for colors which entranced me.

The sound of the water put my mind at ease and I waited patiently while she gave me a reading on my past present and future, according to the box of cards.


It assured me that my visual nature was indeed a plus. That now was the time to kick up my heels and celebrate, and that I should not be worring myself with a timeline of growth, my evolution would come in time.

"Huh", was all i could think to respond to such a thing.

It had in fact answered my question. Perhaps only slightly more accurate than if i were to thumb through a dictionary and point randomly to words while posing to myself questions that plagued me.

But I promised myself on this trip that my mind would be closed to nothing. As detatched from the use of tarot cards and crystals as I may be, they are there none the less, and heavy within the mind of my Vogue. And frankly, Ive nothing against crystals.

It's all mind over matter, this I believe firmly.

Each stroll down the street, or hike through Vallecito brings me home with pockets full of rocks. Always slightly dissapointed in the vibrancy of colors that seems to fade once removed from water, I gather them together in a bowl and keep them wet so as each day brings for me an explosion of unreal shades.

I catered a wedding party this weekend. Vogue passed the job of bartender off to me, which pleased me greatly. People do so adore the individuals who brings them alcohol. And with my constant rounds, there was not a dry glass in the house.

I was given ridiculous tips just for keeping the glasses full. An older gentleman by the name of Alan took to me right away. The older gents usually do.

He assured me that my freckles were not only beautiful within themself, but an irish badge of honor and strength.

I thanked him, as beliefs such as that are a dying breed. But freckles are no badge of honor, I thought, it is wrinkles and grey hair that speaks of such things. Freckles just...are.


Winter approaches, I can feel it in the air. It taunts my poor Vogue, whose heart grows with sun and not shade.


She confessed to me that the Colorado winters bring much bitterness for her. And I assured her, that with my love for snow and cold, and hers for sun and heat, our moods would bind together to form a peaceful balance.


There will be allowed no such disruption of peaceful snow covered lands with bitter revelries for long lost summer. It will, after all, come again. Just after Spring, as it does every year.


But she will hear nothing of my musings for snow capped mountains. She remains in a silent denial that Summer is gone, that we are no longer in sunny southern California.

I, on the other hand, dance to the moonlight in anticipation of those beautiful crystals of falling ice.