Down the stairs of my condominium and across Campus Drive to Leona Canyon Open Space Preserve. In April and May, I canter past an expanse of wild radish and California
An ancient monk wears heavy wooden prayer beads looped about his neck, koa or woodrose. White-robed, he is sworn to protect local villagers from demons. More than a few– a snow queen, and
thistle stalks with silvery thorns not yet turned iron in the summer heat the explosion of a buckeye’s start poppies close up after hours helicopters go on a spree a robin squats in
Ellipticals, treadmills, exercise bikes, pick my way through a forest of equipment gauge how close or far I wish to be from monitors displaying talk shows, cooking programs, sports, news,
This winter I drove across country. Speed limits on these super highways are 75 miles per hour. Along the shoulder, highways are littered with shreds of big rig tires, blow-outs
Vegetables were artfully arranged by size and color like models at New York’s Fashion Week. I wanted to eat everything. But this was not a farmer’s market or my friend’s