Winter’s firm handshake is a reminder of your journey. He doesn’t crush your hand unless you’ve not shook it every day in the months preceding.

At your return from every journey, you should enter your door unannounced and armed, ready to slay any suitors that dared court your wife while you were gone. I come home from my work shift every day like that.

When we lost three masts off the coast of Japan, when I was scrambling to gain control of the ship during that gale, I was not thinking about death. I was thinking about - Life! Only on the calm nights, after a hearty meal, do I ponder death.

I hailed what I thought was a Tahitian pagan. I wanted to hear his savage wisdom. When he replied to me in a Quaker’s Christian voice, I wept. There was no corner of this world untouched.

Do miners fear the work day? I wondered. They can't, they don't have the luxury of fear. But in my decadent languishing, I did not have that luxury either. I go to the mines. It matters not where they be located or who owns them. We all mine something. I mine excel sheets.

The cheap cologne she bought me smelled nothing of bourbon. And it wasn't going to turn heads. She knew that, it was her intent. Well I'll show her. I smeared chicken shit on the inside of my jacket. There won't be a nose that'll forget me after tonight.

Forged by blood in unholy covenant, a diabolical pact assures the end. A dual purpose guides this weapon. The destruction of his enemy, burning with hatred. And the destruction of his master, extinguished of purpose.

The late summer fields were dry. The thistles abounded. But the smell of cooked carrots and garlic emitting from the plov, cooking slowly in the cast iron, still lingers on his nose. However, the only taste on his mind was of her lips.

Walking a rambunctious Pom she had no control over. Coffee in the leash hand. Drops fly left and right, but none land on her jacket, pure white. She did not yet know it, but divine grace guided her heeled stride.

After the rain, green on the hills abounded once more. The hillside with his name burnt into it began to meld into a sea of grass. He demanded the world to remove his name. He wishes to dwell in faint whispers, where only those who listen carefully can hear.

He awoke with a fury. Hounds barking, horses galloping. A lone fox fleeing for its life. None of these things were familiar to him in his cul-de-sac life.

Sincerity is a stage of zeitgeist. The state of awakening from a sleepy morning. A vigorous afternoon. Now is the dark night. But the sun will rise again. And on that day, you will be able to finally stop saying 'unironically'. Everyone will believe you. I can't wait.

In this job, long hours of nothing are interspersed by short and raging hours of fixing someone else’s problems. Few survive long. The boredom is too much and the reward of the work too little.

The sparrows dart in terror before the majesty of the soaring hawk. They understand he rules the skies and they are but his subjects. Nature knows the truth.

The mints are knee high again. Time for another long spring of Mojitos

Driving to work, halfway there. I lift my hand off the steering wheel. It felt wrong. In that moment I realized I had forgotten my watch at home. My wrist felt 1000 pounds too light.

When the mulberries are ripe, they wait for no one.