Good Morning

I miss the awe of watching the changing eastern sky in the early morning when morning whispers and night tiptoes into obscurity. For many months now, when I wake shortly after 4 a.m., I’ve chosen to spend the first silent hours under a Sherpa blanket in the den, with a basket of supplies (Bible, notebook,

Wizened Petals

Gerry brought them home a week or so ago: loud, brash looking tulips. I pulled out my camera, affixed my macro lens, and shot a few images—knowing I’d convert them to black and white in post processing. They were too much for the calm I hungered for. Now they’re long past their prime and there’s