Writing, like the “writhe-m” of the northern lights, taunts and fluctuates. Time mires in a velvet shroud of 24 hour darkness. My gaze fixes on the dance spilling across the onyx infinity yawning beyond my reach or senses. My thoughts stick like frost on a windshield. What can nudge the ghostly tendrils of the aurora borealis from my view and slowly awaken me from my stupor? My portfolio is a comfortable chair by a roaring fire to warm you on your travels. Linger awhile and enjoy.