An aging humanist hanging on to the idea that there is hope for humankind — against all current indications.
Photo by Gage Walker on Unsplash

If I could live my life again (old people think about things like this), I would like it to be as a writer of fiction. Sure, I write fiction now, but it is the last gasp of a drowning man desperate to share the madness of his mind by heaving…

The author, 65 years ago

I re-read today one of my very first posts on Medium. It was in June of 2016, and it’s title, Is It Too Late?, told it all…then.

I’ve written a lot of stories since, taken a lot of photos, painted a lot of paintings, planted a lot of flowers. I’m…

Night of the Nightingale, acrylics on canvas, 36" x 48" (In process) • R. C. Flores-Gunkle

I have many interests — too many I sometimes think. After a long academic career, I enjoyed a second full career as a magazine writer and editor. Along the way, I continued a passion for photography. My photos have been included in exhibits, featured in a National Park Service calendar…

Porch view, Gurabo, Puerto Rico, Noon, Oct. 16, 2021 • R. C. Flores-Gunkle

There’s a group on Facebook that posts photos taken during the pandemic. A single photo is accepted from each member and it must be of their view from a window or porch — with no people or pets — just the things seen outside by someone inside. …

My writing room • Photo: R. C. Flores-Gunkle

I have several spaces in my home for my different interests, but only one for writing. My writing room — my office — was once the back porch of our house when it was first built exactly half a century ago.

The original house was a modest structure, one that…

Fried food, Puerto Rico ©2021 R. C. Flores-Gunkle

“Nothing succeeds like excess,” George pontificated from his perch a few feet higher than his fellow students on the terrace of the cafeteria at the University of Puerto Rico. …

Yup, it’s that time again. The oracle from the orphanage reawakens. I’m not sure how long it has been since last I wrote to you. How do you keep track of time in a world skidding toward a halt by a microscopic villain?

For me it has been through schizophrenic…

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