Jacques Cousteau’s 1971 book, “Diving for Sunken Treasure,” sits on the nightstand beside my bed, with hope — one magical night the book pulls me in, sitting me on a coral reef watching.

Nearly every morning a cat scales the eight levels of difficulty over the 6-foot privacy fence surrounding my home.

There she stood — all crimson and velvet of her — an 1847 Victorian sofa trimmed in 3-D mahogany carvings of savage wolves and other random forest creatures.

“Kids eat free this summer,” I read on a billboard coming into the city.

Feed your restlessness — this headline I recently read, gave me a nudge.

An assignment Tuesday morning took me to Historic Halifax where state employees and archeologists were on-site to desilt Magazine Spring.

“By dawn on June 6, [1944] thousands of paratroopers and glider troops were already on the ground behind enemy lines, securing bridges and exit roads.

My dad loved his album, “Telly,” which I own.

Choices present themselves — what do we do when they come?

The birds are so generous — their chorus awaits my every morning.

Some of us have a way of being — nestling into the world quietly.

What is the color of fire?

Lake Michigan goes on as far as the eye can see — spanning the entire West Coast of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula.

“I am intimately aware of how your life choices catch up with you.”

Entering deeply into subjects of thought happened while driving to work this morning.

Every Easter, confusion comes with the reminders.

Overhearing the news this morning, my steps froze.

Sometimes folks are sent in our paths for reasons.

I believe in love.

I tend to believe the truth is simple, but I wonder.