The back panel of my computer, once humming with light and purpose, now sits quietly, a maze of ports and potential gone still. I had meant to use a picture of a wet morning glory for my postcard, something living and bright. Still, when the computer quit and took that image with it, this became the story instead: the silent aftermath of failure, the machine that held my day’s beauty turned into the subject itself for my 10/14/25 postcard.
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…
