A presence in the house, you can't see it but you can feel it. All the energy climbs the walls, haunts every beam in the floor. Those creaking stairs, how many stories created themselves in those dark cellars in Orange New Jersey.
Out front, the dark brown factory with broken windows, the cold stone steps, how many stories still to come, ghosts to fuel a child's fertile mind.
The energy of things, how objects take on energy and create a drama that is intangible. The writer, the artist thrives in those in-between places. Driving through the country, selling insurance, there were ghosts on every long country road.
There were things that had histories, I didn't know their stories but I wanted to. The shady cemeteries had voices and memories that were as real as the tall ancient trees that shaded them.
I live between the two worlds, nature and all its' beauty and the darkness on the edge of light. This is where I find my inspiration and excitement, I am haunted by energy and histories.
