up and down, on a knoll

 

the farm. december 2011. 

headed to camp early tomorrow. listening to etta james and the peaches. quiche and cookies for the ride. friends and music to pass the time. bear dog at the end.

still lives

 

the farm. december 2011. 

christmas eve

the farm. december 2011.

out for a walk at sundown on the farm, in the hills above santa rosa. family strolling around in groups with coats on, or standing on the porch, or just lounging inside, warm.

solstice morning

home. dec 21 2011.

it was so good to talk to you at that concert. so good to laugh and reminisce and forget about the thick crowds around us. when you reached out and casually squeezed my arm, just above the elbow, i felt it in my whole body. it was like something that was clenched loosened. my awareness turned towards you. i wanted it again, just that squeeze, that hand wrapped around my arm briefly, easily, connecting us for a moment.

i want that again, now. i want to feel your hand on my arm, i want to know you're there, standing next to me, listening and laughing and happy to be with me, just as i am happy to be with you.

late dawn, winter desert

mojave desert. november 2010.

happy winter solstice!

threading the eye

bryce canyon. november 2009.

a mystical drive. a storm hit overnight, and fine snow dust was swirling across the road. i'd broken my camera the day before, and so was recording the final two days of my trip with a disposable. that road was so lonesome, so isolated. it was beautiful, but i was glad to leave.


....



it's late, and i'm alone. i'll go outside and unplug the christmas lights in a moment, lock the door, and climb in bed to read about cleopatra and anthony. i wonder if i'll dream about that cold, stormy road when i close my eyes to sleep. i wonder if i'll relive the awe, fear, thrill, giddiness of driving alone through a storm, with only music and a map to direct my wanderings. it would have eased me to have someone there with me, to sit quietly by as the grainy snow gathered and swept across my view, draping the road in gauze then wiping it clean. i remember one ribbon of black wet road, plastered to the wall of a canyon like a gash in the earth. the road curved and wound, hurtling down until it reached the plain, and a town. it's strange how a group of strangers can somehow make you feel more alone than an empty car and an empty road, with nothing there before you.

at home, pre-eclipse

the other north oakland. december 2011.

tilt up sun down

adeline street, west oakland. october 2011.



who knows what the future holds
or where the cards may fall
but if you don't come out west with me
you many never know at all

come out west and see


an excerpt from west, by lucinda williams

merlin

redwood park, oakland. november 2011.

uplit palm

city hall. december 2011.

there is a bright pink that seems only to exist when it is glancing off the bottom of striated clouds just before they fall into darkness. glory before a quick death. if the cloud wasn't there to catch it, would the color exist?