My 12/08/25 postcard is a spent flower head clinging to its stem, petals bleached into parchment by cold air and passing days. The leaves sag, textured and worn, yet still hanging on. Processed as a painting, it’s a reminder that beauty doesn’t vanish when the blossom is past its prime; it just changes form.
My 12/07/25 postcard is a Red Hesperaloe seed pod, its split shell revealing pale interior…
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…
