Words | Pictures
Writing paired with photography. Often beginning with a walk, sometimes ending somewhere else entirely.
At the Gulf
On the edge of the white beach I am alone near the sea grass tall and waving and dying. Again and again and again the shore laps in the hot wind. The sand here is powder. At times windswept leaving ripples across the wide plain into the gulf that is firming the firmed shore where walkers walk and runners run and bikes wheel with asphalt assurance.
Companions
This is the divide in the trail
where we go our separate ways
you into memory fully sprinting
coat shining chasing who knows what
into who knows where
and me still walking
into tomorrow where the leaves fall
and cover with snow
Between Meetings
When a man, suppose a man of considerable wealth, has eyes
that meet you and leave you like making eye contact with a small
bird, says that his personal life just went in the crapper,
do you relate by saying, shyly, I can relate, or do you nod your
head like the cat watching the bird jump from each dry limb to the next
thinking how lucky he is to have feathers?
More Dog Walking
My dog rolls in dung on the trail. I shouldn't mince words, I think it was dog shit.
Then he ate it.
Long Island Johnny at the Tiki Bar, 2020
Cold December Florida dusk. Hardly anyone there.
Hardly anyone is me and you and a few others
together alone in the pandemic air.
