Whenever we head out on a roadtrip we often take the Road to the Buffalo east out of town. We live along the Road to the Buffalo. The local Indians were various tribes of the inland Salish language group. They lived by hunting and gathering and some farming as well
I squeeze though the rotting stile, the dog went under the peeled pine rail. Back on the lead and we walk the gravelled track. Barbed wire on our right and infinite flat blonde grass on the left. Dotted with black cows, their faces swivel not to me but towards my
Warning this is a technical photography post. I bought a Sandisk Extreme Portable SSD for use with my Fuji GFX 100s ii. This is my experience with it. Mine supports USB 3,2 Gen 2 (10Gbps) and this is the maximum the camera supports. Buying an SSD with a higher
We had travelled a long day. A late start as Mollie was not well. She awoke at 4:00am in distress some stomach ache she gets occasionally. Something she ate perhaps. All she wants is cuddles and belly rubs to soothe her. So the morning was the delirious in an
He is younger than I am now Hunched over his rod Eyes focused on the water Intent and unaware his photo is being taken. He seems so small I see in him my dad, my brother, and myself September 1984, I am in college He and my mother living their
Late this afternoon Families talk, hear a tune Plink of banjo, thump of bass Woodsmoke, summer's sweetness does erase A warm afternoon breeze We watch as sunlight flees Mornings form cool and dry Geese arpeggio across the sky Pine cones husky drop Plums purple where they plop Apples
The struggle had, I suppose, been going on all morning but I was unaware of it at the time. The water's cold current pressing relentlessly against my legs and hips. The water whose surface was a dark green reflected from the forest on this overcast Oregon Saturday. The
There it sits framed in the black screen In a darkened office quiet as a nave A ghostly gray vase of muscle Shown in cross-section And inside a delicate flower is nestled The petals rushing open and fluttering shut Not so much like a flower as the wings of
Scintillating, 10,000 crickets thrumming throbbing sound, Sing down the day and bring the night around The pleading stars reflect their cries Even as the twilight dies Each breath smells of pine from heat of summer day Made harsh with smoke of burning forest twenty miles away A river of
A warm September evening and Mollie and I are up at Pine Street Woods. It is just past sunset with the air cooling. A faint hint of woodsmoke has returned after the cleansing rain of the other night’s thunderstorms. The hills to the west have a robin’s egg
She draws the delicate mist about her Like a shy courtesan she hides her face And watches when she thinks we are not watching Revealing when our attentions are turned Then is stolen away again by the jealous clouds
We met a nomad. She was our camp host though she didn’t come to introduce herself until we were about to leave. She said she thought she should introduce herself and mentioned she liked our trailer (an Escapod Topo 2 teardrop which does get a lot of comments). A