In a dimly lit restaurant nestled in the cobbled alleys of Zürich’s Niederdorf, ten of the world’s most eminent (and eccentrically over-dressed) mathematicians gathered around a table buckling under the weight of antipasti and wild gesticulation. Archimedes, having insisted on entering the premises wrapped only in a
Dare I dream of roses, a night sky passing proud, Orion and all his friends standing, in heaven’s dark blue, not loud— Like children we remember, the home from where we were, the rocket then we boarded— steel forged and smoothed our nerve. The first kiss, the awkward bumble,
We start with feet riding on a rubber floor, a moving carriage, scuffed by thousands of shoes, our reflections caught for a second in the glass. A middle-aged man stares at us, then sinks again as the train descends into the central tunnel; brushed steel and huddled shoulders carry
Wir fahren, die Füsse auf dem Gummiboden, den tausend Schuhe blank und stumpf zugleich gerieben, im fahrenden Wagen, wo für einen Augenblick unsre Spiegelbilder an den Scheiben blieben. Ein Mann mittleren Alters sieht uns an, dann sinkt sein Blick zurück ins Ungewisse, während der Zug hinab in die Tunnel fährt;
Light floods the valleys by Pontresina, slowly overturning the shadows, driving them into scattered patches beneath the trees, into low ravines where the sun has yet to find them. The massive rock, a geological matrix, how you wear the fragile woods like a blanket woven in autumn colors, yellow, orange,
The chorus of thundering cannons announcing the day, the grass on the hills and woods set in sway, Autumn like armies in red, orange and blue, charges directly and bursts into view— Colours and crispness, the air and the mist, along an old river that meanders and twists, so suited
Something knocks. The darkness waits outside, a breakup like a spider spinning cobwebs in the corners, draping furniture like linen, like the falling apart of cobblestone streets, red brick mansions on Beacon Hill with no heirs, not even a gardener— the gentlemen have all booked flights overseas, young Spanish women
Digital Pontresina, Engadin, Switzerland · October 2026 Digital interpretation of an original photograph, inspired by Ferdinand Hodler. Original
Digital Seiser Alm, South Tyrol · October 2026 Digital interpretation of an original photograph, inspired by Ferdinand Hodler. Original
Digital Pontresina, Engadin, Switzerland · October 2026 Digital interpretation of an original photograph, inspired by Ferdinand Hodler. Original
Digital Val Roseg and the Bernina Range — Pontresina, October 2026. Digital interpretation of an original photograph, inspired by Ferdinand Hodler. Original Photo
Poetry
It’s not a game, we play to win, but more a gift, we hope to give. Light sets our path, minds stretch to grasp, Jah ‘s righteousness, love over wrath. We toss each card, hands reach to help, hearts open wide, our words are felt. The reason we, do
Poetry
On Monday, learning from Jehovah and when, we followed Christ and faithful men, to shepherd, bind, broken hearts to mend. On Tuesday, for His faithful word where beauty shines on every page, His organisation life does save, As Spirit moves us to obey, promoting Christian unity. On Wednesday, how high
Poetry
As our sails unfurled in a sea of dark waters, our lives, like a ship through the night, did embark. Though trouble and pain crashed hard on the bow, the light from His Word lifted the veil from our hearts. His spirit within us, we glide over waves white with
Poetry
I hear Jesus‘ voice, let it ring, Hallelujah! calling to a better place, let it ring, Hallelujah! down by the Jordan race, let it ring, Hallelujah! let it ring, let it ring, I‘m coming Lord — I’ve toiled ’neath the burning sun, let it ring, Hallelujah! faced the Devil‘
Poetry
Butterflies of the earth that playfully intersect along the mountain of life, through fields that cover decades with verdant, plush carpets and teasing lilies, as the embrace of the sun tickles them with wind. Or like comets racing across the night sky, through the universe, each with an intricate purpose.
Photography
Poetry
As we go splashing by And in between the puddles I will hold your hand. And in a moment when The quiet stretches across The valleys you will sit With me. Down roads and through cities We will know our names And the rain will fall gently. When I look
Poetry
I left our classroom early to find A spot on the breakwater quiet and still. Upon the cold, desiccated granite sit I And empty my pockets; some bait, a dollar bill, And an old pocketknife used to carve in your name, But like the ocean unknown - your lure just the
Poetry
O lazy sleeper harvest here, how can thee dream of heaven’s hall? Sharpened threshers come ever near, still the painting on the marble wall. Since He speeds fast, our faces shall be still and shine within the light. O lazy sleeper harvest here, rise up and work the fields
Poetry
Set your détente high on the hill! The senators who cry out, While the idle paisano hails, The citizen in arms who rides. Headlong to dust, with horseweed That hangs from lips blistered with boils, From the ongoing heat of the lip burning sun. Kicking up particles that scratch squinted
Poetry
Huddled, our faces, flickering like a candle, Before the piled wood, fallen pine cones, Where in starry arms the night does dandle, Those now going off, the drowsy hours, To woodland roads alone. Place our moccasins by the maple tree, Her every leaf and twig and flower, Her bright red
Poetry
Look at her sleek frame, the one you know, the one who beckons you in May. Full of sweet perfume, which sweeps down slow, she tingles rose petals in childish play. Glance upon her iron beams, steps to her top enumerate, while Paris daisies illuminate and supple legs intoxicate. Spirits