Archive for the ‘Nature’ Category
Wednesday, March 7th, 2007
March experiment—day seven— I came back from the gym this morning with a strong desire to make up for lost time, and the result was a day of progress beyond anything I could have hoped for. My pace was such that I could even feel the “rusty” spots in my collage technique, but those shouldn’t be too difficult to burnish over the next couple days, and then I’ll start working on my first “Joe Box” this weekend. I use that term because of its double reference to Joseph Cornell, the master of box assemblage, and Joe Wood, who personally acquired my raw materials. It pleases me to know that, for whatever reason, these objects appealed to Joe. And now, with Joan’s approval and due to her kindness, I’ll interpret them as three-dimensional art. Speaking of Joan, her entry about the Lady Rebels says it all. In tonight’s paper, Hayley is quoted as saying she’ll be “out for blood” next year. Admir’l Lice himself couldn’t have said it any better!
Today’s sight bite— At the highest spot in town, the morning sentinel glides from atop the tallest tree with one pump of his massive wingspan—c-l-i-c-k—and circles the human far below, who stands earthbound amid the downy evidence of a recent meal.
Tomorrow— “Cruise control” at my basement work station dedicated to collage…
Posted in Art, Family, Joan, Nature, Pirates, Priorities, Sport | Comments Closed
Saturday, March 3rd, 2007
March experiment—day three— I awoke before the alarm, and I figured that was a good omen, but then I saw the full moon setting in the west, and it was awesomely huge, maybe the biggest moon I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what the heck that means, but I’m glad I was up early enough to view it, and then I ran four miles with my chum Mort, talking about the local bike initiative, politics, leadership, business development and the market jitters. It was great to start my day with a friend, and to close it down with one, too. I had another classic coffee-shop consultation with Danny this evening, bringing back a few pearls for my ongoing artistic investigations, and understanding better that the most effective way to infuse meaning into one’s creative output is to seek truth in the contemplative side of the equation.
Today’s sight bite— The enormous lunar disk—c-l-i-c-k—magnified above the blue-over-black horizon like a telephoto backdrop.
Tomorrow— Life’s teacher is where we spend our time…
Posted in Art, Awe, Creativity, Exercise, Friends, Nature, Priorities | Comments Closed
Thursday, September 21st, 2006
Ah, the Salmon Lords have smiled. Bill and I made our final trip over to the dolomite port last night and caught three fish for the freezer— 10lb-4oz / 12lb-8oz / 13lb-14oz. We’d decided to divide up the two sides of the boat between us, two lines per side, but after Bill had two straight catches on the starboard downrigger, he granted the next fish to me, regardless of location. It hit on the very same pole and was the biggest of the three! And so there we have it—another evening for the fishing log, and the kind of event that will keep us loving this sport and coming back for more. The fresh memory of it seems a bit unreal as we head south today through Michigan, and I try to jot a few notes for the record, with an image before me similar to that old Jackson Browne album cover, clouds like marshmallow baguettes lined up as an invasion fleet in a milky-blue sky, and golden-green trees stippled with burnt orange marching by, with an ochre crust of fading ferns beneath the old-growth cedars, punctuated by unreformed “dickhead” drivers cutting around us at high speed, as if it’s the only way to move with traffic, all the time LaSalle’s soft black head resting comfortably between us, holding her contented dog-thoughts of home…
Posted in Fishing, Friends, Nature, Pets | Comments Closed
Tuesday, September 19th, 2006
A few days ago I sat out on the dock and wept without tears. It didn’t last very long. I wasn’t able to remember when or why until just now— I was reading the words of Paul Watkins. I should have known. Today I convinced myself to put on my wet-suit and get back in the water a second time. I needed some exercise and I figured it might be my last chance to do a channel swim. The water was quite cold but tolerable. I covered more than a half mile. Bill had driven into town. I honestly felt like I had that entire part of Michigan to myself, except for the geese, swans, and cormorants. The air temperature getting out of the water was more shocking to the system than the experience of getting in. The wind has continued all day and discouraged any fishing outings. Yesterday we caught several yellow perch, including Bill’s 11-and-a half-incher, probably the largest one any of our gang has ever hooked up here. Later, we reverted to salmon trolling again and that proved just as fruitless as Sunday’s session with casting rods. With a cold front predicted, we had to keep a constant eye on a changing sky. The two of us fished until dark and then came back to a deserted resort. I had to hold the spotlight so Bill could see the pier.
Posted in Exercise, Fiction, Fishing, Friends, Nature | Comments Closed
Sunday, August 20th, 2006
You know you’ve found a bit of heaven when you can have berry pie with your early morning coffee, while sitting on a porch that overlooks a natural pond, and then complete a pen and ink sketch of a woodland path in time to be served a broiler-fresh asparagus frittata for brunch.
Janet and Jerome didn’t get to stay over last night and missed the patented Simpson Cabin Lazy Sunday, which, come to think of it, ranks right up there with the patented Yorkshire Estate Lazy Sunday.
Posted in Art, Family, Food, Friends, Jerome, Nature, Pie | Comments Closed
Sunday, August 6th, 2006
Drove to Hot Springs yesterday via 25-E, which, during the daytime, is a much more pleasant route than the Interstate. It gave us an opportunity to locate the LMU campus and learn that it’s quite close to the Cumberland Gap tunnel. Much of the way I read to Dana from “Simple Loving,” a book that used to belong to Joan and Joe. By the time we arrived at Broadwing Farm, we were thinking sufficiently “outside the cube” to make our short breakout worth it, even if nothing comes of our appointment tomorrow. Bob and Carol had a delicious supper prepared and we talked until sleepiness held sway. Typically, we spent today in deep conversation, fueled by natural foods, fresh air, a majestic view, a run to the nearby coffee hangout, and a dip in the spring-fed pond. Carol turned us on to Sarah Susanka, Bob convinced me to start watching the series “Band of Brothers,” and Pete gave me some hemlock slabs from the sawmill for my woodcut experiments. The regional infestation has worsened to the point that he’s been forced to harvest a lot of hemlock from the forest, but the timber is being put to good use in building a horse stable and a third rental dwelling. This one will be called Cedar, and will surely add to the success of Poplar and Pine at Broadwing Natural Bath Cabins.
Posted in Art, Business, Family, Food, Joan, Nature, Nonfiction, Television | Comments Closed
Friday, July 21st, 2006
As of last night, I think that Mr. Sartoris could no longer take it, so he invited us to go out on his boat this morning to demonstrate successful lake perch methodology. Long story made short— Marty and I brought back a basket of 34 keepers which resulted in an “all-you-can-eat” beer-battered fry later in the day.
Suffice it to say the Sartoris Technique works! I’ll be looking forward to using it again in September. What a difference a little know-how makes. As they say, “Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.” Everything has to be exactly right and then… WHAM. Most catches don’t require a new bait setup. WHAM. Again and again. That man thinks like a fish. And the current conditions in the Les Cheneaux allow for a satisfying reward, if you take the proper approach.
After our big catch we went into town to get tartar sauce for Marty and also visited the Hessel dock, concluding that the weather was right to take out Walt’s Sylvan, so we had a nice boat ride when we got back, circling Government Bay, motoring out the Yacht Entrance, and then coming back around Gravelly Island. Marty got his chance to take the wheel out in open water. We had the familiar geography all to ourselves and it was really enjoyable. As the sun set, it was a classic Barefoot’s Resort scenario… campfire, frisbee on the beach, marshmallow roast, a slice of Dana’s blueberry-peach pie with a scoop of Laurie’s homemade ice cream.
Packing luggage that night didn’t even feel so bad. What a week!
Posted in Dana, Fishing, Food, Friends, Marty, Nature | Comments Closed
Monday, July 17th, 2006
Marty and I had no luck with our fishing opener, but today we caught one yellow perch and a few sunfish (also called pumpkinseeds). They’re hard to clean. With so many activities back-to-back, I haven’t recorded nearly as much as I want to while it’s happening. The lad devised a diamond-shaped mile swim for me in Moscoe channel, so I accomplished that before we “struck out at the plate” during an expedition for northern pike tonight—at least the sunset was spectacular…
Posted in Exercise, Fishing, Marty, Nature | Comments Closed
Tuesday, July 11th, 2006
While at Kelly Ridge, Joan let us pick out some of Joe Wood’s old fishing poles for our trip to Michigan. She also handed me a book by Harlan Hubbard titled “Payne Hollow.” I pointed out to her the handwritten note on the front jacket flap that said, “Not for loan.”
“Too bad,” she replied. “He should’ve stuck around to enforce it.”
I immediately began to read the small work, as Dana drove us north for a few Lexington errands. I’d never heard of this memoir—the heartfelt story of an artist-craftsman and his quest for an isolated, unconventional life close to the earth, but I quickly understood why it might have been one of Joe’s most treasured books. Hubbard describes his conviction that a longing to live an even more primitive, solitary existence is less important than the compromises necessary for the richer satisfaction of a married life.
The author did not win me over from the start, but rather by slow degrees. I’m struck with the parallel of my own experience with Joe himself. Perhaps he came to the same conclusions about a life alone. Perhaps this is my sister’s way of helping me better appreciate the natural course of their own love story.
Wow… and I still have the second half of the book ahead of me.
Posted in Art, Craftsmanship, Dana, Family, Fishing, Joan, Nature, Nonfiction, Personalities, Psychology | Comments Closed
Monday, July 3rd, 2006
I spoke to Chris P on the phone today and confirmed our reservation for the hilltop mobile home at Barefoot’s Resort this month. It’s ours from the 15th to the following Saturday morning. He said they’re having the best fishing season in over ten years. Lots of yellow perch and northern pike. Marty needs to pick out one of Joe Wood’s fishing poles for the trip. Joan was kind enough to offer him one a while back.
It’s clear that the cormorant control measures are finally kicking in, and the news is exciting. To restore the natural fishing pattern of the Les Cheneaux is the ultimate goal. As much as I love fishing for king salmon in the U.P., one has to recognize that the Michigan resource managers stocked those waters with salmon in response to the dwindling number of indigenous species. It’s only too obvious now that the introduction of non-native water fowl caused a devastating ecological imbalance that’s only now being successfully mitigated.
Posted in Fishing, Joan, Marty, Nature | Comments Closed
Wednesday, April 26th, 2006
I’d personally taken the lead on most of the preparations for the Bicycle Commission’s face-to-face meeting (venue, schedule, meals, recreation), but the one thing I can’t control is the weather. If we’d gotten rain today, my heart might’ve broken, but, fortunately, the dismal sky held its moisture during my planned 15-miler. It was quite cool for the season, but no wind. I thought the Mercer County landscape was pretty, even with the cloudy sky. The sun finally peeked out for a spell after everyone was back and packed up for dinner—a bit of salt in my wound—but I really can’t complain. The day has gone well, and I really like these people…
Posted in Community, Exercise, Friends, Nature, Public Service | Comments Closed
Wednesday, April 12th, 2006
My love of April pulses through the senses… the perceptions of life reborn, and the resurrection flame in every emerald shoot.
My respect for March is a sober weight on my heart… the power of the experiment wanes, like a staggering man who clutches someone’s sleeve to steady himself. The currents of life swirl at my newly found stability, threatening to undermine the uncured foundation.
I feel the low gravitational energy of 2005 pulling at my center.
And so I mount the two-wheeled steed with my cohorts, and defy the hills until my lungs want to explode.
To fly with the redwing blackbirds, as the wind drinks my tears…
Posted in Angst, Exercise, Friends, Nature | Comments Closed
Saturday, April 1st, 2006
— Month of March workout totals: Swim-5; Bike-5; Run-5; Lift-9; Yoga-9
— Word arrives from Greystone that Nicholas received his letter of acceptance from Auburn University’s College of Veterinary Medicine—news that makes his uncle and Godfather very proud. This is clearly an extraordinary year for graduates in our Clan. In addition, Caitlan is finishing up at Georgetown, and then she’ll be heading back to Oxford University to begin working on a second degree. Congratulations to both of them!
— Although it rained most of the afternoon yesterday, David, Rick, and I were able to have an enjoyable shooting practice under the range shelter since there was no wind. We alternated with four different antique rifles—the London-made Martini-Henry sporter (to which I’ve completely bonded), a Martini full-military “Long Lever,” a Winchester Model 94 in .30-30, and a Winchester Model 95 in .30-06. For the first time ever, I was able to hit targets at 300 yards with iron sites, despite the difficulty of contrasting recoil, trigger pull, and site configuration for each firearm. By Jove, I think these friends have made me into a long-range marksman! It was an ideal prelude to a meeting of the Wood Duck Society. When I showed it to him before dinner, Rick had a positive response to my artwork commemorating David’s South African safari. So far so good. Tonight we’ll see what the people in Louisville think of my “Legacy Art” concept.
— Still capturing sight bites — An energetic pair of fowl, landing on a surface that mirrors dawn’s first hues—c-l-i-c-k—joined moments later by a second couple… The wood ducks have returned to Simpson Knob for another season, on the weekend that pays tribute to their modest splendor.
V & S
Posted in Art, Caitlan, Education, Exercise, Family, Firearms, Friends, Nature | Comments Closed
Tuesday, March 14th, 2006
March experiment—day thirteen— Today’s dramatic change in weather makes me realize I got just what I wished for. Hmmm—perhaps, while I’m on a roll…
A few interesting things happened today. I was happy to get back from the gym in time to catch Junger’s interview on C-SPAN, and it made for some good breakfast viewing. Although I’ve broken my habit of watching early morning television, this was a worthwhile aberration. I share with him a special concern for the Afghan people that goes back to the 80s, when friends and I met with Mujahideen representatives during their stay in Dayton. I can’t like a journalist as much as I like Junger unless I trust that person’s instincts, and for some reason I completely trust this guy to get exactly the right take on whatever he observes. So now I’ll have to go find a copy of “Vanity Fair.” This afternoon I had a crucial discussion with Wilma at the Community Arts Center about raising my profile as an artist, and her advice may prove invaluable. The most stimulating thing is how much it coincides with some of the suggestions and encouragement I’ve gotten from David. A daunting transition, to be sure, but one that I must initiate in the near term. Stay tuned.
Today’s sight bite— Flags snapping on the Salvation Army pole against a field of midday blue—c-l-i-c-k—the kind of pure, deep shade that invigorates my soul.
Tomorrow— Conference call with KBBC Commissioners, trip to the courthouse to pick up my “Share the Road” license plate, and an evening of Russian music…
Posted in Art, Friends, Nature, Nonfiction, Personalities, Priorities, Television | Comments Closed
Monday, March 13th, 2006
March experiment—day twelve— This dismal weather is starting to get to me. I’d rather be forced to wear a heavy coat and gloves, if it would get me a blue sky. Continued to use my time matrix to chip away at projects, not all of them money-makers. Took the equine-packaging job from sketches to electronics this afternoon and that’s an important step. After five o’clock, I tried to finish cleaning up the front yard, but it started to rain. Didn’t that happen yesterday? Tonight I sat down again with “FLIGHT, Volume Two.” This collection doesn’t seem as awesome to me as Volume One, but I’m enjoying it immensely. That’s just the way it is with sequels, I guess. I can’t help but observe how much some of these artists have been affected by the drawings of Bill Watterson. Reminds me of when I look at political cartoons and realize that an entire generation of editorial artists have been influenced by Mike Peters and Jeff MacNelly.
Today’s sight bite— Sky like a canopy of yellow-grey bruises—c-l-i-c-k—with a tree swaying the way a nervous man shifts his weight from one leg to another.
Tomorrow— Wake up to the stationery bike and another gym workout (try to catch
Sebastian Junger on “Washington Journal”), and then get in some billable time before the Salvation Army executive committee meets…
Posted in Angst, Art, Home, Nature, Personalities, Studio, Time | Comments Closed
Friday, March 10th, 2006
March experiment—day nine— An unremarkable yet productive Friday, with the new schedule beginning to feel like routine.
Today’s sight bite— The rolling pastures of Garrard County along Highway 52—c-l-i-c-k—ready to burst into verdant hues with a few more days of full sun.
Tomorrow— Solid day of activity, a delayed celebration, and my sister’s secret garden…
Posted in Joan, Nature, Time | Comments Closed
Monday, February 6th, 2006
In Memoirs of a Geisha, the main character reflects on the advice of her mother, who taught that water, with time, can cut through the hardest rock, and, when blocked, will always find another way.
Why is it that everywhere I shift my attention, I’m reminded of the power of persistent, repetitive action? Is the universe using the method itself to make sure the concept gradually penetrates my stubborn personality?
When I look over the past dozen years or so, the most noticeable change I can recognize in myself is the transformation to high physical activity from a sedentary mode. It wasn’t initially inspired by a dream. Rather, it grew out of an apprehensive realization that I undoubtedly carried the same predisposition to heart disease that had claimed my father’s life. Out of weakness came strength—increment by increment, workout by workout, mile by mile.
So, there I have it. Out of my weakness to believe that I could achieve without grinding, habitual effort my dream—a dynamic life on the land, making art from a studio in the Knobs—can come a new practice and ritual which is the only course that will ever take me there. Yes, there will be obstacles and inner resistance. At times, the water will need to find an alternative path, but there is no alternative to the necessity of the “drill.” No other way than through the power of focused routine, and a life of productive habit.
Once again, I must read the words of Emerson and let them sink in—
In chemistry, the galvanic stream, slow, but continuous, is equal in power to the electric spark, and is, in our arts, a better agent. So in human action, against the spasm of energy, we offset the continuity of drill. We spread the same amount of force over much time, instead of condensing it into a moment.
Once more.
And again…
Posted in Art, Dadbo, Exercise, Family, Movies, Nature, Nonfiction, Priorities, Time | Comments Closed
Sunday, February 5th, 2006
The overdue arrival of winter weather kept our annual Super Bowl Sunday mountain bike ride up in the air until midday. No additional precipitation and a sliver of blue sky tipped the balance, so we gathered in Forkland to face the four-knob challenge. Ben, Brian, and the other hard climbers took off in a fast pack. By contrast, the rest of us set out at a pace that gave us a shot at finishing the day in one piece. With a double layer of socks and running shoes, I wasn’t surprised that my toes still went numb at times, but I wasn’t expecting the wind chill to cut through my neoprene scuba-diving gloves (one of the best gifts Jerome ever gave me). Let’s just say it was brisk out there, but I never really found myself second-guessing the choice to go through with the ride. With great companionship, a stunning vista of remote, snow-clad woods, abundant running creeks and cascades, plus the opportunity to test the value of my recent gym workouts, it was an envigorating, worthwhile afternoon, and proves that cycling can be a rewarding fitness activity in Central Kentucky any time of the year.
Posted in Exercise, Family, Friends, Nature | Comments Closed
Tuesday, November 22nd, 2005
When I saw huge crows crisscrossing above me, settling noisily into the tallest tree at McDowell Park, I knew that there was more than crisp November in the air.
…three, four, FIVE—the numerological indicator of change.
I found out Dana had called 9-1-1 so Bruce could be rushed to Methodist Hospital, and later I learned from Mombo that he was back in the critical care unit.
My prayer request is for stability and the resumption of his steady improvement.
Posted in Dana, Family, Mombo, Nature, Prayer | Comments Closed
Sunday, November 13th, 2005
After the Gallery Hop in downtown Danville on Friday night, I went to David’s cabin to prepare for the 2005 deer hunt. Before sunrise on Saturday morning, Greg and I crouched below the rocky outcrop and saw a doe move around the point. I thought the visibility was too dim for a clean shot and was comfortable watching her move on. Not long after that, David shot a doe at the front tree-stand with his antique double rifle. That position proved the place to be throughout the opening weekend of rifle season. Stuart took his eight-pointer there Sunday evening, but that’s a whole story in itself.
My favorite time of the weekend was Saturday evening, before the weather changed. I watched two squirrels frolic for over an hour among the dry leaves until they retired to tree-top clusters, each of my senses acutely aware of the woodland environment in all its minute detail. Venus pierced the gloaming as a fiery sun finished painting the autumn colors a more vibrant shade of orange. I saw no deer, but it didn’t seem to matter.
On Sunday morning, sitting in the rain at the rear stand, I saw two does heading away from the knob-top clover field, no closer than 50-60 yards. Since I held a lever-action carbine with no telescope, it wasn’t a good shot for me (for the second time in as many days). Later, David was observing the area from the same stand at dusk, without a rifle. Firing his .45 revolver into the hillside, he attempted to spook a big buck moving on the same trail I saw my does. He was hoping to push him toward Stuart’s position at the front of the knob. It worked. As a result, enough meat became available that Dana and I filled our freezer and more, even though I had no personal kill this year.
When I was back in town someone wanted to know if I’d “shot Bambi,” and I sensed more clearly than ever the gulf between people who hunt and those who disdain it.
I went for decades without going on a traditional hunt, after putting it aside in my twenties when I chose to give up eating meat, but I never lost a respect for the tradition gained from Dadbo. Eventually I reintroduced flesh to my diet and became a fisherman. A profound reconnection with the natural world and an evolving appreciation of the shooting sports opened my mind to the idea of harvesting meat firsthand in the woods.
I honor the philosophical purity of strict vegetarianism, but anyone who consumes meat consents at some level to the killing of animals to sustain their life. Participating in the act with full consciousness, attuning the senses to a wild environment, experiencing the synchronicity of engaging a particular creature, and valuing it as a gift of nourishment from the Great Spirit is an activity that puts me directly in touch with ancestors—my hunting namesake, his Appalachian frontier forefathers, medieval Slovaks, first-millennium Norsemen, tribal Neolithics…
There’s no way to explain all that to someone who was never vouchsafed the hunting tradition. I’ll probably spend the rest of my life trying to understand it myself.
Posted in Dadbo, Dana, Firearms, Food, Friends, Hunting, Nature | Comments Closed
Monday, October 24th, 2005
I finally went into the Central Kentucky Wildlife Refuge. It’s a fact—I’d never been beyond the parking lot. Why? Because I always told myself that if I had the time, I’d rather go to the Blue Bank Farm to be in our own knobs. While that notion is essentially valid, it allowed me to stupidly neglect an extraordinary natural setting right here in Boyle County. I ran the picturesque trails with some friends. Some might say this was a ridiculously hazardous thing to do under the circumstances, since it was raining and there were roots, loose stones, and lots of fallen leaves on the trail. The downhills were particularly treacherous; there were places where it would have been almost impossible to stop, and even slowing down before a level spot made the footing more uncertain. You know what I mean if you’ve ever run down a really steep grade. I know runners who won’t run on anything but a paved surface, fearing injury. They won’t even run on grass, which is my favorite thing on which to run—always has been. I remember how uninhibited I used to feel after watching a Johnny Weissmuller movie, and I’d run barefoot at top speed across the back yard with a rubber knife and give the Tarzan yell, which I thought at the time to be an exceptionally decent rendition of the Hollywood sound effect (for an eleven-year-old Ohio boy it probably wasn’t bad). I felt swift—I never paused to consider how it might look as though I were standing still if one of the Vagedes brothers had been running next to me. They were all sprinters from birth and grew up to challenge the rushing and stolen-base records of their day. I was never similarly fleet of foot. I didn’t run track in high school. I said it was boring to run in circles, but the true reason is that I wasn’t fast. I thought I would do better at a longer distance. In the late 60s track and field competition offered nothing over a mile run, so I went out for cross country. The distance was two miles. Today a two-mile run is a track event. I was still slow, but I got to run on grass. Dadbo was supportive and said I had a natural stride. It was nice to have my father tell me that he enjoyed watching me run, but we didn’t talk much about cross country. If he came to observe any of our meets, he kept out of sight. He must have thought it might make me nervous if I saw him. I’m guessing it would’ve helped. If I’ve ever possessed “the Means,” it wasn’t back then. Most likely, Dadbo knew that. In any case, I was usually injured because I waited too late in the summer to begin my training. On top of that, I had inferior shoes and poor coaching. I’m still relatively slow, but I can take a medal in my age group now and then if I’m in shape (and only one or two good athletes happen to show up in my category). But I’ve learned to run without injury at last—and I can pull out all the stops on a slippery October trail run among my fitness chums, with the keen insights of Paul Watkins reverberating in my psyche.
Posted in Dadbo, Exercise, Friends, Movies, Nature, Personalities, Playtime, Sport | Comments Closed
Sunday, October 16th, 2005
Dana and I were heartened to see a vast improvement in Bruce when we spent most of the day with him, including a trip to one of the hospital courtyards, where he used his wheelchair as a “walker” to get some good exercise in the sunlight. His progress over the past week gives us reason to believe the topic of his going home may be under discussion before long. On the way back, Dana read aloud to me from “Reading Lolita in Tehran,” as did I while she was driving, selecting a chapter from “The Fellowship of Ghosts,” the evocative account of a journey through Norway’s nearly inaccessible mountains by novelist Paul Watkins. As a massive sunset peaked, we passed a caravan of mobile homes with FEMA emblems heading south. The cloud pattern filled half the sky like glowing lava splashed against a field of robin’s egg blue.
Posted in Dana, Family, Nature, Nonfiction, Personalities | Comments Closed
