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nightfall at noon.

no beginning. and no end.

After editing more than 500 images of waves in an afternoon, you kind of Zen out and find a way about things that makes sense. This was not chosen for that reason. It simply was the last image I decided to keep. There is a certain grace in that kind of decision-making that is similar to the elegant brutality of this wave complex … it simply happens.


spring-time. into the woods, finally.


pretty as it is, you have to walk back up.

and sometimes, bad’s pretty compelling.

Let’s see … “Do Not Enter,” on the left and ahead. Arrows pointing in one direction. One of them’s almost as big as I am. Oh, hell yeah. I’m turning right.

even when the right road is clearly marked, sometimes in life, we choose the wrong path.

The road, then known as The Devil’s Highway, was renamed U.S. Route 491, effective 7/1/03. But what great signage while it existed … 666 wasn’t just a road … from here, it was a road leading south, deeper into the heat of the desert. And it had a high fatality rate, according to the Wiki.


out for a run.

was it really ever like this?

Sometimes, the image is the feeling … more than the photons on the retina. In this middle of winter, the image can be a kind and delicious hope. So, I thought I’d share this memory, this hope for tomorrow. Anyone else have a great summer image for these cold days?


when everything just stops at the riverside.

My apologies. My previous image version was just way loaded with an orange cast and should never have been posted. This better presents the colors and the fog of the evening. Thank you for your patience.


winter ghosts I.


ghost town. and everyone’s checked out.


meditation #23.


you can just drive up to the otherworldly.


once. someone believed.


lighthouse in the distance.


standing in The Unattended Museum of Picnic Tables [part 2]


standing in The Unattended Museum of Picnic Tables.


hello again, Alice.


a bridge is neither here nor there. you are only in transit on a bridge trying to get here or there. you are only a package waiting to move or be moved. and no one delivers a package to the address of …The Bridge, Portland, Oregon 97219.


bridges to too many everywheres. how do you choose?

… in a strange land.

Yes, there are footprints. But in this place … what kind are they? And will they move if you don’t look?


portrait of a lighthouse in the background.

the color of death far away.

Mt. Pinatubo in the Philippines blew up in 1991. More than 800 people were killed in what has been called the second-largest volcanic explosion of the 20th century. Some few months later, the ash had made its way skyward, encircling the entire world. I was at a convenience gas station at the intersection of two small roads in the middle of the Texas plains with no town anywhere nearby, and the sun tried to set. The dust from the volcano halfway around the world challenged the light and made it run incredible reds and oranges.
This is before Photoshop, HDR, and tonemapping.  These are the true colors of that night.  The gas prices you see dimly lit up in the center were $1.19 and $1.14.

time, following its own footprints.



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