Washboard Road
This rutted track with pot holes and cuts, makes for rough travel. Perhaps I should have chosen a shorter course, taken the highway. Out on
This rutted track with pot holes and cuts, makes for rough travel. Perhaps I should have chosen a shorter course, taken the highway. Out on
Low clouds cross the valley in a dry southerly wind, the sun an occasional guest during months of rain feeding glaciers, mountain rivers, vast estuaries
When I think of America, the US that is, I think of John Denver and Country Roads. And just to show how out of touch
Beneath the weight of snow the Earth rests but does not sleep. In root and caves beyond number tribes of spring begin to drum, waters
South the sun rises on winter mornings, slanted low in bright light and pale orange. Trees sleep in rooted beds, the sky left to crows.