fog dawn this morning
it won’t even really rain
just tears. and fires.


fog dawn this morning
it won’t even really rain
just tears. and fires.


on this dreary day
plagued by plagues, wildfires
votes matter so much


it’s not fall here yet
because climate change gifts drought
(endless heat and sun)

yet, the trees persist.
they tell us what we don’t know
with perfect colors.



October roses
shouldn’t still be bursting blooms
alas, climate change

Monday is cactus
trying to create flowers
in the desert sun

sunset petroglyph
lighting up our last night here
with teens who smile




“presidential” words
have left our society
with this disaster

but what can we do?
race the sunrise up the trail?
or trip ourselves down?

either way, we pant,
exhausted before the day
can even burn us.

September travel?
we can learn geology
and visit arches


we can buy peaches
from the orchards where they’re grown
relishing their juice

yet COVID follows
with at-capacity parks,
a shut-down ghost town


my motto follows:
be prepared. pack sushi, fruit.
drive towards the sunset.



find the world’s curves
where the sky clears away smoke
and we can just. breathe.

the garden goes on
far into September nights
when i make salsa


and another quiche
made by my girl while canning
consumed my evening

fall aspens: golden
it’s worth the annual drive
and finding our path


