<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713</id><updated>2009-10-13T22:33:48.991-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Notes along the Elizabeth</title><subtitle type='html'>"Noted" along the shores of the Elizabeth River.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>503</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-3574023578832044409</id><published>2009-06-21T01:09:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-21T01:09:34.929-04:00</updated><title type='text'>All frequencies broadcast-this could be bad if you're following too close: Request feedback job app http://ow.ly/fiWO IRT http://ow.ly/fiVT</title><content type='html'>All frequencies broadcast-this could be bad if you're following too close: Request feedback job app http://ow.ly/fiWO IRT http://ow.ly/fiVT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-3574023578832044409?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/3574023578832044409/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=3574023578832044409' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/3574023578832044409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/3574023578832044409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2009/06/all-frequencies-broadcast-this-could-be.html' title='All frequencies broadcast-this could be bad if you&apos;re following too close: Request feedback job app http://ow.ly/fiWO IRT http://ow.ly/fiVT'/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-7294643919513380940</id><published>2009-06-05T00:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T00:35:18.039-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Late at night, when the house was silent but for the sound of the air coming through the vents, he'd wonder how the past had led him to where he was.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-7294643919513380940?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/7294643919513380940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=7294643919513380940' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/7294643919513380940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/7294643919513380940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2009/06/late-at-night-when-house-was-silent-but.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-3413309569751474904</id><published>2009-06-03T22:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T22:53:08.813-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The lure of the screen kept him seated.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-3413309569751474904?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/3413309569751474904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=3413309569751474904' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/3413309569751474904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/3413309569751474904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2009/06/lure-of-screen-kept-him-seated.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-1661148072060142584</id><published>2009-06-02T23:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T23:57:19.325-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The 500th post, and he'd been just then ready to just walk away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-1661148072060142584?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/1661148072060142584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=1661148072060142584' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/1661148072060142584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/1661148072060142584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2009/06/500th-post-and-hed-been-just-then-ready.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-437013945043669693</id><published>2009-06-02T01:35:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T01:35:02.460-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He suddenly saw what his youth would have been like had the Internet existed then; it scared him, frankly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-437013945043669693?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/437013945043669693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=437013945043669693' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/437013945043669693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/437013945043669693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2009/06/he-suddenly-saw-what-his-youth-would.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-1503605892857976993</id><published>2009-01-07T09:44:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T09:44:55.049-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Certain of nothing, he faced the eastern sky, wide and tall.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-1503605892857976993?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/1503605892857976993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=1503605892857976993' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/1503605892857976993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/1503605892857976993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2009/01/certain-of-nothing-he-faced-eastern-sky.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-10938101698235441</id><published>2009-01-03T03:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T03:12:43.725-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Somewhat self-imposed, the hiatus away from the Internet has reminded him that the world was not just bits and bytes with light and dark on the screen; he wanted to swing a hammer and not be tied to a keyboard.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-10938101698235441?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/10938101698235441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=10938101698235441' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/10938101698235441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/10938101698235441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2009/01/somewhat-self-imposed-hiatus-away-from.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-7895744873094175678</id><published>2008-12-06T10:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T10:53:16.369-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The water, still and silent, reflects the winter sky; boats rest quietly at anchor.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-7895744873094175678?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/7895744873094175678/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=7895744873094175678' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/7895744873094175678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/7895744873094175678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/12/water-still-and-silent-reflects-winter.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-8691005950931922910</id><published>2008-11-25T23:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T23:44:01.236-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The dark sky was alive with the sparkle of white lights outlining the distant horizon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-8691005950931922910?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/8691005950931922910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=8691005950931922910' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/8691005950931922910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/8691005950931922910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/11/dark-sky-was-alive-with-sparkle-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-1260398146802099121</id><published>2008-11-24T11:31:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T11:31:51.695-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He felt overcome and powerless when he couldn't find his keys and access passes for work; without them, he was no one.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-1260398146802099121?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/1260398146802099121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=1260398146802099121' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/1260398146802099121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/1260398146802099121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/11/he-felt-overcome-and-powerless-when-he.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-7988551653555932197</id><published>2008-11-23T20:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-23T20:52:12.278-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sunday evening and he felt the world of possibilities laid out in the week at his feet; Friday might find him beaten down, but from Sunday's vantage, hope and optimism formed the horizon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-7988551653555932197?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/7988551653555932197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=7988551653555932197' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/7988551653555932197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/7988551653555932197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/11/sunday-evening-and-he-felt-world-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-6922177247145883875</id><published>2008-11-12T11:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T11:31:40.363-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>When he didn't try to &lt;b&gt;think&lt;/b&gt;, he found that life ran more than smooth, a ribbon stretching into the unseen distance.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-6922177247145883875?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/6922177247145883875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=6922177247145883875' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/6922177247145883875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/6922177247145883875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/11/when-he-didnt-try-to-think-he-found.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-3876894564272401325</id><published>2008-10-23T00:14:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T00:14:45.904-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He felt the rush of a fruitful day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-3876894564272401325?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/3876894564272401325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=3876894564272401325' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/3876894564272401325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/3876894564272401325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/10/he-felt-rush-of-fruitful-day.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-1537822379299658806</id><published>2008-10-22T10:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-22T10:38:23.619-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>In a world of quiet desperation, each of us goes through life a stranger to family and neighbors, a passage of time unmarked by celebration.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-1537822379299658806?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/1537822379299658806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=1537822379299658806' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/1537822379299658806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/1537822379299658806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/10/in-world-of-quiet-desperation-each-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-4905788457748191549</id><published>2008-10-21T18:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T18:15:30.990-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He felt as if would live forever, decades like months, life spinning toward him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-4905788457748191549?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/4905788457748191549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=4905788457748191549' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/4905788457748191549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/4905788457748191549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/10/he-felt-as-if-would-live-forever.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-339924130728633415</id><published>2008-10-13T01:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T01:52:27.549-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He found himself staying up later and later, his body aching and requesting slumber under the night sky.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-339924130728633415?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/339924130728633415/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=339924130728633415' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/339924130728633415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/339924130728633415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/10/he-found-himself-staying-up-later-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-3240145207248839989</id><published>2008-10-11T00:01:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-11T00:01:40.777-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He knew the hours of darkness would lull him to a sense of security and peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-3240145207248839989?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/3240145207248839989/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=3240145207248839989' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/3240145207248839989'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/3240145207248839989'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/10/he-knew-hours-of-darkness-would-lull.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-1059214334963723480</id><published>2008-10-02T12:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T12:29:35.361-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Home was comfortable, a welcome place or respite in the midst of turmoil and winds.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-1059214334963723480?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/1059214334963723480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=1059214334963723480' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/1059214334963723480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/1059214334963723480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/10/home-was-comfortable-welcome-place-or.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-3105803674746052765</id><published>2008-10-01T17:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T17:06:03.788-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He seemed to thrive and yet he felt empty inside, a sense of purpose lost like a leaf on the breeze, browned and brittled and blow along the alley, unseen and unnoticed in the grander schema.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-3105803674746052765?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/3105803674746052765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=3105803674746052765' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/3105803674746052765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/3105803674746052765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/10/he-seemed-to-thrive-and-yet-he-felt.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-2432161631408375070</id><published>2008-09-28T21:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T21:55:17.895-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The evening no longer held the same appeal as it did two or three decades before; he felt the night in his legs earlier and earlier with each passing year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-2432161631408375070?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/2432161631408375070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=2432161631408375070' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/2432161631408375070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/2432161631408375070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/09/evening-no-longer-held-same-appeal-as.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-6152438781280713757</id><published>2008-09-26T07:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T07:13:51.900-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He slept with the window open, autumn rain providing the music for slumber.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-6152438781280713757?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/6152438781280713757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=6152438781280713757' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/6152438781280713757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/6152438781280713757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/09/he-slept-with-window-open-autumn-rain.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-480986536462040564</id><published>2008-09-25T00:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T00:24:14.870-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The night sounds drifted through the open window, and he realized that autumn was upon him, a cool, cricket-filled darkness encompassing all beyond the glass.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-480986536462040564?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/480986536462040564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=480986536462040564' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/480986536462040564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/480986536462040564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/09/night-sounds-drifted-through-open.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-6419713441649351537</id><published>2008-09-24T06:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T06:27:45.951-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He was pretty certain that things were always more complicated than they appeared from a distance.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-6419713441649351537?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/6419713441649351537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=6419713441649351537' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/6419713441649351537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/6419713441649351537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/09/he-was-pretty-certain-that-things-were.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-686184139806592165</id><published>2008-09-20T22:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T22:23:33.487-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He would drift back, his eyes closed, to moments not forgotten, a yearning welling like a moving storm, wind tight against him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-686184139806592165?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/686184139806592165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=686184139806592165' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/686184139806592165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/686184139806592165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/09/he-would-drift-back-his-eyes-closed-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8357713.post-8627202186592201220</id><published>2008-09-02T10:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T10:41:52.440-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>He watched the water shimmer in the morning light and felt the soft touch of life upon his cheek.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8357713-8627202186592201220?l=notes.peterstinson.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/feeds/8627202186592201220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8357713&amp;postID=8627202186592201220' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/8627202186592201220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8357713/posts/default/8627202186592201220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notes.peterstinson.com/2008/09/he-watched-water-shimmer-in-morning.html' title=''/><author><name>Peter A. Stinson</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04609822925630529135</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='16396763558263887059'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>