We begin to forget the work of our hands the act of creation we hold within us what sweet satisfaction comes with the transformation of the idle into the beautiful we are all artists on our strange journeys finding a path forward sometimes without light but our hands hold power whether we use it or … Continue reading Progress


The mountains call us not only the heights but the down slopes valleys winding trails and coyote's dens A rough celebration for those willing to suffer for the thrill of the climb The summit a gaze that turns us all into artists before endless beauty


A little plot-based poetry, to start the novel-writing week.