Heavy, Dude.

In their shop way up high in the sky,
plans fixing Joe went awry.
Using mortar and bricks,
they made him too thick.
And now he's too heavy to fly.

Male Pattern Dust Piles

Bald and appalled
with his dusters he crawled,
sweeping the floor
where is hair had all falled.

Harlequin

[click on any of the images to get the full details]

September Harvest

It was 105 degrees in the shade, and there was very little of that where the Sierra foothills lazied into grassy dells and sleepy hummocks near the flightline at Beale.

A mile from the old POW barracks, we found 6 young trees standing in the wild oats - two perfect rows of three, three perfect rows of two. Small, narrow leaves fluttered between silver and green on willowing branches lifting in the hot breeze. Dad warned us not to eat the fruit.

We piled out of the stationwagon, dragging 2 bed sheets apiece, and we spread them beneath the slender reaches, tucking them up against the trunks. Dwayne and I climbed up, and rocked them in the wind. And for ten minutes they dropped a hail of green pebbles, a soft drum of fingers on the cotton below.