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Since 1999 I have written a short mostly-weekly piece of about 500 words. It started as a newspaper column in the Buenos Aires Herald and went through various incarnations and names.

During the flash of my first love affair with Buenos Aires it was called “Around Buenos Aires.” When this seemed too limiting and a sort of false advertising it became “The Sunday Muse” since my mind and topics always wandered but the piece came out on Sundays at least. When I was touring a lot with my band and spent half the year on the road, I called it “The Road Diaries.” A few years ago I began calling these pieces “Little Epiphanies” since that seemed the one defining and unifying characteristic: each one is, for me, a little epiphany, some small discovery that makes me cherish this life all the more.

They are not perfect. They can be self-indulgent, even repetitive. But in their defense I can attest to their honesty. Their limitations are my own.

As are their moments of sublime beauty and truth. I own the best and the worst of these little writerly conceits. If you read them you will find me.

There is not a single topic or nor for that matter much useful information shared — unless you believe that reigniting one’s love of life and wonder is a practical effect. (That’s the effect they have on me.) These pieces are an open window into my obsessions and my striving and my unfinishedness. Since I have been at them over two decades now, they are also a sort of testament, for better or worse, to my way of living and seeing the world.

And they are also a blatant attempt to reach you, move you, connect with you.