Horsetail Falls at the edge of autumn. Stout spruce glades capping granite right angles. Stopping for a while to appreciate the endless grey-orange cinder runoff between the clouds from hundreds of miles away. At the top, Avalanche Lake carved from fairytales and held in late-summer stasis. Glass-slick water dotted with pond skaters. No hint of murk to obscure long-drowned logs. Decaying trunks encrusted with emerald moss. Handfuls of unripened acorns for a hand catapult. The snap of rubber, and a burst of lime-colored dust as cap separates from core. A juvenile pine cone brought to rest early among the toyon berries and oak shrubs.
11:00 p.m. - 2020-09-09
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Thanking the Pandemonium - 2020-11-26
Simplicity of Sometimes - 2020-11-25
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Red Blue Green Purple - 2020-11-11
Too Young to Descend - 2020-11-11
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