Better Things

Better crumbs to leave behind me than notes on comment spammers.


Two little boys in a square in San Antonio, hiding behind their coats pretending to be pigeons that they chase from the square.


An exercise in light one night when I was playing around.


I walked in the meadows last weekend, a dark day with a cold wind blowing and I stood on top of a hill and looked all around me. There was no other person in sight, not a car nor a plane. Just me and the wind and a storm on the horizen and the desolation of the trees and the meadows in winter.

We should seek to preserve our areas of desolation: in this day of forced cheerfulness and among the bright neon markings of the human animal, desolation is our most endangered beauty.


I wrote a poem. Just be glad I’m not publishing it online.


There is nothing more beautiful than a leafless tree.


Except for the joy of simple things, like putting your coat over your head, pretending to be a bird.


My deepest thanks to Mark Woods for highlighting the Colonias of Texas, home to children no different than the ones playing as birds shown in this posting.

The desolation of a browned meadow, with a hint of new growth come Spring, or a lonely mountain top or leafless tree is beautiful; the desolation of a people trapped into a disposable worker class for the benefit of companies such as Wal-Mart, or lured into our country to fuel a new military made up of volunteers desperate for citizenship, is not.

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