-
If Jackson Pollock was a photographer – #17
I imagine one his photographs might look like this:
-
If Jackson Pollock was a photographer – #16
I imagine one his photographs might look like this:
-
Poem – At the End of the Day
Cast from expectations of treeless horizons and concrete enforced cities, we landed here within the forest which quickly enveloped us. Towering pines scatter the August afternoon and we run through fallen needles and shadows. At the end of the day we rest in the native grases and watch butterfly wings open and close.
-
Poem – Connections
Regardless of what the trail is made of, it connects us to the earth, guides us through the forest, allows us to be within.
-
Poem – In the Silence
In the stationary silence I seek answers that already lie at me feet. I look for skies that already fill my vision. And I seek truth to my purpose that has played out for hundreds of years. What hands move the pieces in this universe? What hands guide the universes along the surface of the…
-
Good morning from Leroy and Vinny
Looking at the calendar, over a month has passed since my last post here. Where does the time go? I would like to say that I was in the midst of some grand adventure, but that would not be true! Life. Just life happening, and dealing with the daily grind, the obligations, and the 9-to-5.…
-
Poem – Night Becomes the Day
Standing on the front porch I watch the sun rise over the distant mountains and first light run across the empty fields. Morning wind pushes scattered stalks and coffee steam while bird songs emerge from the tree line. High bulbous clouds assume many colors as the sun reaches higher. Leroy lays at my side sleeping…
-
Poem – Horizon
Spring has filled in the once barren forest and we witness the green waves rolling toward the blue horizon.
-
Poem – Love
What we have spans time, existing without place, breathing with each ray of light, captured in morning waves.
-
Poem – Driving North
Driving north this May an early summer and the windows are closed as the heat presses against skin and our eyes squint. Green farmlands with waiting tractors, fields holding grazing cows, red barns and white houses, silos scattered across the horizon. What is this life outside the window from another time long gone except memories…