
a long-legged colt from fort worth
complained at the time of his birth
that there wasn’t much room
for his legs in the womb–
and i’m sure that his mother concurred
–edited photo by me

a long-legged colt from fort worth
complained at the time of his birth
that there wasn’t much room
for his legs in the womb–
and i’m sure that his mother concurred
–edited photo by me

sometimes i change my
perspective to see things the
way they really aren’t
every new perspective
gets me closer to the truth
–photo by me




–photos by me
They say that when people suddenly
Find themselves at the end of their lives,
They may look back and see the entirety
Of their existence in a single moment,
Without the proverbial blinders on,
And realize that their whole lives were
Absolutely perfect in every single way.
I say, “Why wait?”

while fishermen plan
for the opener, the fish
remain in the dark
–photo by me

geese will mate for life
for even bird-brains know to
put their off-spring first
photo by me

Heaviest of the native North American birds, trumpeter swans arrive at their nesting grounds after a long flight, and circle the big pond once or twice before splashing down. Then, they’ll typically do a little socializing and a whole lot of preening. Finally, it’ll be time to get down to the business at hand, and if all goes well, there will soon be a string of fuzzy little cygnets trailing mama like the tail of a kite.
the trumpeter swan
can be summed up in two words:
big and beautiful

–Photos by me

I don’t know why they call him that
He doesn’t fish, he’s not a cat
But what he should get credit for
Is being a bad-ass predator
He’s ruthless, and he likes to dine
On snowshoe hare and porcupine–
No, I wouldn’t call him that
The truth is he would eat my cat
–Photo by me

I went out to the farm a couple of days ago and was disheartened to learn that Skittles (the orphaned fawn) has been missing since that nasty blizzard we had in early April. Stephanie said that although Skittles would often be gone all day, she’d always come home to sleep indoors at night.
So far, all of poor Steph’s calling out for her has gone unanswered.
Now, there’s always a chance that she finally just up and left with others of her kind. Perhaps one day I’ll run into her on one of my woodland walks. I hope so.
Good things are fleeting
They touch us and then are gone–
To make way for more
–Photo by me (last year)




–photo/art by me