It all depends on who’s watching. Which cloud they’re standing under. Sky, that chameleon, can’t decide if she likes Free Willy or Gallipoli. Somewhere, there is always sun. Just now, storms break low on the horizon. Dressed in gray, the pimp stands at the pulpit, calm and cruel as a blank page. Sky, he claims, is always white, always holy. And if I forget to notice how she wraps the whole world in one long embrace, it’s only because I get lost in all the colors: green sleeves, red blood, blue heart.
A good perch
A different perspective
Farmers Market, a taste of local flavors.
Wealth in any community comes from its people and their efforts to beautify every member.
Rain's finally here again, after one of the hottest summers I've had in the city, a comfort of home.
...and this is how I found out Ornette Coleman has died...
We started the walk in bright sun and a light breeze. I convinced myself that the dark clouds in the distance were blowing away from us. I was wrong. Wet dog, wet human.
Graffiti and Ghost Signs