A Tree Grows in Boyle Heights While this image of a tree is not an abstract photo, as many of the images of tree bark that I’ve made over the years are, I was drawn to the shapes, lines and colors of the graffiti. In addition, paying attention to the…

I sift through boxes of found objects gathered on the workbench in my garage. Sort through memories of my father who always stood away, never opening the door to himself. I assemble selected objects: broken, splintered pieces of plywood found in the trash bins behind Big Lots; a wall piece…

A Minimalist Poem, a, ea, i, o, u l_st l__st

bent, broken branches speak letters, words on the ripples, intone silent peace

Today I will Today I will rise and look out the window at the sky. Today I will make my bed.

The Pacific Coast Highway stretches some 1,675 miles from Olympia, Washington to San Diego, California. For many years, my wife and I were grateful that we had the resources to spend time in many of the more contemplative areas of the PCH road north of Cambria, a small coastal village where we spent our honeymoon. We lived in the SoCal area where the highway is more commonly referred to as the PCH. I still live in SoCal. But time and impermanence changes all. My wife has passed and my age now keeps me from longer journeys. Now shorter trips often offer more wisdom. I have begun to focus on a two mile stretch of the PCH in Long Beach, California.

I stood in line, the line for older people. We stood apart silently hoping to find TP. There is no TP today. I remember my mother’s words after a WW II shopping trip, “No butter today.” Why did she say that? We churned our own butter. I turned the handle, watched the paddles splash the white cream up, explode into a yellow ball.

“There is a time to be born and time to die.” In the natural world when a tree falls, the forces of nature begin the passage of disappearance. The tree is attacked by bugs, the sharp claws of animals searching for grubs, and a variety of mushrooms, mold, and such…

With my homage to William Carlos Williams little depends on the orange can left on the white chair beside the trash, except I eyed it.