At the Round House Cafe, life happens every day. I think there is something mystical about it.

This week, a carpenter and a healer met at the Round House and decided to think about living together.

The artist Donna Wynbrandt and I continued our creative dialogue; she drew my hand on the camera shutter, I took a photo of her with George Forss, her partner and lover.

Maria met with her creative group, three women who support each other.

A high school student brought her clarinet and performed in public for the first time. I told her she had done well,

and she said, “oh, really, I thought I would puke.”

A good friend of mine decided to buy a truck and a trailer and take his wife across the country on a long trip, they would just head out for two months.

A deputy sheriff talked to his father and decided to apply to the New York State Police.

The cafe owner sang a song to his friends and customer.

I invited a man there to have lunch with me, and we became good friends.

A group of widows met on Thursday, as they do every Thursday, to talk about the men they loved and miss.

A woman came up and said she didn’t want to bother me, but she moved upstate because of my book “Running To The Mountain,” and she wanted to thank me.

I think the Round House Cafe is a mystical place.