An Orchard

An Orchard

I once asked myself where apples come from. Scrawled along nerve synapses I cast an enormous tree planted in firm albeit a bit rocky terrain with boughs wrought in iron. Apples strung like garland. And a bucolic old man in an ephemeral land existing wholly to tend to the providing giant. The orchard I imagined oft.

An Orchard

An Orchard

Posted by: on Nov 17, 2013 | No Comments

I once asked myself where apples come from. Scrawled along nerve synapses I cast an enormous tree planted in firm albeit a bit rocky terrain with boughs wrought in iron. Apples strung like garland. And a bucolic old man in an ephemeral land existing wholly to tend to the providing giant. The orchard I imagined oft.

Memories in Stone

Memories in Stone

Posted by: on Feb 14, 2013 | No Comments

In the cold day the old sun creeps across the blue sky.

Backyard Reflections

Backyard Reflections

Posted by: on Feb 4, 2013 | No Comments

Behind my house is a place, a place where the the five foot wide and twenty feet long strip of grass was a baseball, kickball, and soccer field; the place where blooming sunflowers were lures to catch bumblebees; the place where I grew up.