Whistle Breezes

Today the breeze felt as though it had come from some far off island--a place where the tide is low and fast birds flitter across forming pools, searching out minnow trapped by a moon's pull. It traveled one's bare, summer arms with the knowledge of many lands and many people. It was an exquisite breeze of fulfilling simplicity; a cool blessing found at the apex of every turn, the culmination of every climb, and alas with the greatest presence--at the folding together of rocks--"The Lookout." Whether picking your way through boulders in Ringwood, plotting coordinates in Iraq, or piecing together the map of your existence elsewhere in the world--that breeze, I hope it found you.

Far-off breezes keep us company, as we touch green at the top of The Lookout.


A whistle we encountered, draped over the branches of a low-lying shrub, enjoying that same cool blessing and swaying silently, for once, in its presence.


Eazy-E, bombin' it down from the top of The Lookout.

Humble Hermits (Anne Geddes photo mania, minus the babies)

Spring has arrived. Several times she attempted prior, but our seemingly small ecological footprints formed an alliance and gave her somewhat tainted directions, thus sending her the long way when the fork in the road arose. Nevertheless, she is here, and so are the Humble Hermits she drums up from beneath coffee-ground soil, still soaked from April's showers.