Winter at Lake Michigan

There's an epidemic



Washed Up Balloons Everywhere














On the shore

Glowing After

Finding peace.

I'm searching.
in the aftermath.

I bought clothes to match the donning, a sub-conscious yearning.

I'm in no condition to leave the house; can't it all be done from here?

This searching.

Integrity becomes an issue, as well as emotion.

It's always this floundering, between the desire and good.

What is hopeless?