The subject of my 0/16/25 postcard is frayed at the tips, its petals curling inward, yet it still catches the light. The yellow florets at the center flare like sparks, a quiet fire still burning. There’s something defiant in how it holds on, worn but not done. A reminder that beauty doesn’t need perfection.
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…
