Oh Phil, you were here, yes, but why didn’t you stay?

Under the Hood Canal Bridge.  We sat and soaked sunlight and smoked and talked.  I tried out my new sandals.  Balanced on barnacle-crusted stones.  How high does the tide come up?

Sunny day, traveling with a good friend.  Stop for a treat.  Fresh air, fresh herbs.

My momma spotted this heart in the bottom of my teacup.  Love tea.  Tea leaves and the stories they tell.  Like finding shapes in clouds.

There’s a word for the human tendency to see faces in random shapes.  Pare-something, I think.  Leave me a comment if you know what it is.

How many stones in this photo?

I just bought a book all about stone the other day.  Philosophy and art.  Deep thinking.  Deep water.  Deep geology.  Deep within the earth.  Deep within my creative soul.  That’s where pebbles are formed.

A selling point?  I’d rather have a genuine wood grain cabinet, but that would make for a very strange television set.

The sky is difficult to abstract, but blur can easily mutate a dry husk of a winter queen anne’s lace bloom.  dissected by power lines.  I bent over in the cold snow, wetting my knees, holding the camera upside down.  It didn’t focus where I wanted to.  So what?

Lurks under the daylilies, rots amongst the mulch, just as green as the grass.

Tilted camera.  Long exposure. Windy evening.  Lake shore.  Stones.  Trees.  My favorite spot to be.

Oh!  It’s a ghost hand swishing past the antique lightswitch.  Retreat!  Run away!