Writing poetry is my new love and making photographs seems to have been a part of me since I can remember. I have never stopped thinking about the 1960’s. For the most part my latest projects are sparked by those memories. Writing poems about how close we came, but still we missed the touch of love. Even at this late date I find myself looking for that face to reflect the soft light of my day dreams. This summer it seems that I have returned to the scene, the meeting place and venue of lost hope. Though I am on my own walking these old streets I’m not the only one. When I go out walking I’m often drawn to that part of town where my muse can be seen mostly imagined sometimes real. I saw her today going along like a ghost in the daylight as if searching for some vital part long lost. I am certain that it is not me because one day her eyes fell on me and went dark.
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