An imaginary place in thin, dry air between the mountains and the dusty plains
Crooked trees and houses mark a crooked path, a rocky, thorny ribbon, a haven for daydreams by the river.
Moving slowly, a stroller’s pace, reveals secrets never seen
at speed on shoes or pedals whirling urgently to win.
Pace decides who will ask hard questions, who wonders if the birds care if their home tilts one way or another or needs new paint.
How many bees do you see on the page?
Bee.Jay
Red Dog and I discovered some previously unseen primitive art at an undisclosed location somewhere between the mighty (for now) Colorado River and the Corn Lake section of James M. Robb State Park.
In the first photograph, taken this morning, what appears to be the shadow of a dog’s head is actually the shadow of a dog’s head. The primitive stick drawing appears to have been drawn by a child wielding a stick, likely as early in human history as yesterday or maybe the day before. If Mrs. Smith tries to tell you that I drew it, she wasn’t there and can prove nothing. Besides, I only wish I could draw.
It was a nice morning for a walk down the trail, across the river and up the hill.
B.J.
The Smith Compound 