when sweat becomes a trickle it heads south of the border and soaks a landscape that usually sees only brief showers and ruins an...

a sun arcs across the sky shadow’s one way drift wavelets in the pond and branches bend from a bullying wind dusk approaches the quieter...

I’m sure a hawk doesn’t see a mourning dove the way many do its cute head-bobbing strut the delicate beak dip lifted to drink water that...

I’m glad we don’t live in that old dog eat dog world now just bark, some bite