Waiting at Home


I am seventy years old.

I have too many books I will never read and more that I never should have bought in the first place.

There are too many things picked up along the way when they looked indispensable. And now there is a guilt connected with some that I took to draw later and have no way of putting them back. I can’t even remember where some of them came from, only that they found their way into pockets and suitcases and once home were placed in the studio with care and promises.

Now I am promising myself that on my next trip I will remember them still waiting at home for whatever I had in mind and keep my hands in empty pockets.