listen, as the waves withdraw, to the raspingMeet Margot
chatter of stone on stone. Surely such tumbling
also takes a toll, burnishing cobbles
into pebbles, erasing bedrock in due time.
I have, from time to time, declared my love for lichen. But that is a lie. I don’t love lichen; I love the idea of lichen. I love that they have made it work, have figured out how to live practically anywhere, to survive terrible conditions, to endure until they can thrive.View Writing
. . . because in photographs, emptiness is never entirely empty. It brims over, often, with promises: the assurances that there are connections to be made, meaning(s) to be found, stories that we can co-construct and understand.View Visual Art
Venus has been illuminating my mornings this past week. She rises earlier than I, arcing upward until she’s high above the horizon and dawn’s broader light obscures her.Read Gleanings