My 12/04/25 postcard is the six-hole at Puerto del Sol, covered in a clean, unbroken layer of snow, turning the fairway into a bright white plain under a crisp blue sky. The trees now bare stand along the edges, their long shadows stretching across the powder. The usually busy course feels hushed, no golfers, no footprints, just a rare stillness settling over familiar ground.
My 02/04/26 postcard is a withered sunflower head hanging heavy at the end of its…
My 02/03/26 postcard is a torn prickly pear fruit, its skin split wide to reveal…
My 02/02/26 postcard is a Monday morning on Nob Hill, the city easing itself awake.…
My 02/01/26 postcard is shards of broken glass embedded in the soil at Albuquerque’s Glass…
My 01/31/26 postcard is a rolled, weathered leaf that was still attached to the tree,…
My 01/30/26 postcard is a dried flower head, stripped of color and life, that is…
