this morning, the pond looks like marble. Rose and charcoal dissolving to dove, to guava, rouge. Only mallards pushing holes in the glass, so
this morning, the pond looks like marble. Rose and charcoal dissolving to dove, to guava, rouge. Only mallards pushing holes in the glass, so
no swath of light, no smell of warm wood shavings. A rain-coming scent. Last leaf in wind. Walnuts on the deck bleeding ebony. I
This is where it all began. After far too many years in development, I am delighted to be able to bring the very first