It all started a few weeks ago when I was driven up the winding hills at sunset, up up up, to the top of Blue Mountain; and from there...south a few miles to Singhampton. Here the air is cleaner and fresher and crisper and full of bountiful oxygen. On the expansive green lawns of a mountain home you'll find a well cared plot with a bicycle patch. Yes, they are sprouting. Soon ready for picking. Excellent for anyone's hundred mile lifestyle. Between the tastings and giggling children digging in the sandbox and peeking for tadpoles on the Mad River shoreline, I watched the hen house and rooster tango with the cocky peacock. These are the images and magical tales I want to; that I promised to - share with you. Tonight my heart is heavy with another sound and image. I did not cry when I heard MJ died. I did not shed a tear watching all the coverage and interviews and flashbacks. But today, I sobbed and sobbed when I listened to Paris speak into the microphone. That just cracked open my welded-shut heart. I've been crying ever since. In the car, in the store, in the kitchen, in the bathroom...in my mind - her words were so sad, don't you think? Heart breaking. And so goes life. Given things and taken things. I want to sneak up the mountain to dig up my favorite bike. Perhaps it will take me up and away from all things sad; up to the crescent moon.