Travels of the Body - Musings of the Mind - Wandering of the Soul
The First Year - 1999

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Who am I and why am I writing? - 12-8-1998
Hearses and U-Hauls - 12-4-1998
Theater at High Altitude - 12/27/1998
Raspberries - 1/21/1999
New Year's Day - 1/23/1999
Kdoak Moments - 1/27/1999
Rainbows in the Moonlight - 1/31/1999
Breasts - 1/31/1999
Ode to Plump Middle Aged Office Goddesses - 1/31/1999
Night Flight - 2/6/1999
Sieze The Moment 2/7/99
An Emerald on the Water - 2/8/1999
Confession, I can't dance - 2/18/1999
50 Birds on a High Tension Wire - 2/20/1999
Ray of Light - 2/22/1999
Visitors in the Night - 2/24/1999
Visitors - Part 2 - 2-25-1999
2 Million Strokes - 3/1/1999
Warning - Don't try this at home - 3/3/1999
Where'd Dad Go? - 3/6/1999
Klaxons and Whispers - 3/17/1999
Busted - 3/13/1999
Waterfall at Salt Creek - 3/14/1999
The Guardian and the Guarded - 3/18/1999
The Uniform - 3/20/1999
Pick Me - 3/22/1999
In the Arms of a Scrub Oak - 3/7/1977 Posted 3/1999
Searching for a Moment - 3/27/1999
Heavy Heart - 4/21/1999
Thoughts on Colorado - 4/22/1999
Chains on My Fingers - 4/26/1999
Flowers and Markets - 5/8/1999
Spring, Black Dirt and the Sex Flower - 5/25/1999
Riding Easy - 6/6/1999
Galloping to the Graveyard - 6/24/1999
4 Live - 3 Die - 7/19/1999
Time to Say Thanks - 7/21/1999
We Did It - 7/29/1999
Easy Money - 8/3/1999
The Thin Line - 8/6/1999
Writings on the Wall - 8/10/1999
The Ride to Hell and Back - 9/6/1999
Adventure Travel Top 25 List - 9/7/1999
Letters to the Universe - 9/30/1999
Uniformity - 10/3/1999
The Mare's Tail - 10/7/1999
Diary History - 10/14/1999
You've got Tornados - 10/16/1999
Civil War Diary - 10/23/1999
And the Signifance is? - 10/25/1999
On Being "Outed" - 10/30/1999
The Whirlwind of Leaves - 11/05/1999
Gnawing at the Food Chain - 11/28/1999
Night Sky Happenings - 11/28/1999
Remembering Bob - 12/6/1999

Recollection is the only paradise from which we cannot be turned out.
Jean Paul Richter

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
Lord Byron

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