“April is the cruellest month…” – n’est ce pas?
“April is the cruellest month…” – n’est ce pas?
As I Went Out on Good Friday Morning, the Rain began as soon as I was through the Gate and Walking across the Prairie. For the First Few Hours it was Merely Damp. But later in the Morning the Sound of Thunder and a Harder Downpour told Me: “Ite, Missa Est…”
Wandering down into and back out of the moist West Draw
seeking images of impermanence and renewal &
visiting an old friend, the big fallen cottonwood…
on an unseasonably warm February afternoon.
A crisp afternoon spent wandering around under the muted light and soft shadows of early February in the West Draw and nearby.