Published by

K Mark Schofer

In that grandiose house we used to live, the light from the late afternoon sun entered the front bedroom with ferocity. Today it hit me square in the eyes as a sunbeam ricocheted directly on its intended target. It is a startling nanosecond but one figures it out pretty quickly. The light had reflected off one of the bobble head dolls sitting on top of the chest of drawers. The Portland Trail Blazers were that bad, at the time, that they had bobble head nights often. So now the bobble head dolls sit on a shelf, bobble occasionally, gather dust and occasionally aim sunbeams at people walking into the room.

So a few days later, I heard a loud crashing sound coming from the kids bedroom. Something must have happened on top of that same dresser. I am not sure if it was a cat, most likely, or a dresser incurred a stress fracture of the leg. All I remember was slowly opening the bedroom door and there was something rolling slowly toward me.

It was dark and I had to kneel down to see what was the spot of bother. There sat on the bedroom floor was Joel Pyzrbilla’s head.

Hello,

I’m Mark

His friends observe Mark seems wired a little differently. Perhaps it’s more likely that noticing little things often missed by others is a relic of a quieter, simpler time. He has a way with words, which he refuses to let be hindered by sub-par typing skills. People have great stories to tell if you sit and listen.

A belief dear to Mark is that there is certain beauty in the world. You simply have to look for it.