Memorial Day Thoughts

A day of billowing storm clouds, twisted junipers, wind and the ceaseless movement of the dunes… I see continuity and equivalency between my own life experience and the cycle of life and death playing out around me. I spent my childhood in the desert camping and hiking with my late father, where he had spent…

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The Wasteland

“What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only…

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