My 11/08/25 postcard is from behind the wheel at a car wash on Gibson. The soap and water streak across the windshield in a riot of color, reds, blues, and purples glowing like neon through the wash. The car’s gauges sit shadowed while Willie and Merle play on the stereo, a moment suspended between motion and stillness, all strangely entertaining.
My 12/06/25 postcard is a small rabbit sitting in the cracked soil of a dry…
My 12/05/25 postcard is a roadrunner standing on a sunlit sidewalk in Siesta Hills, feathers…
My 12/04/25 postcard is the six-hole at Puerto del Sol, covered in a clean, unbroken…
My 12/03/25 postcard is a cluster of empty drink cans hanging from the bare branches…
The last two cold nights finally shook the trees loose, and the leaves came down…
My 12/01/25 postcard is a flower past its summer bloom, still holding onto threads of…
