An August flourish.
At the start of a deliberate day.
Paired jewels hidden at the marsh edge.
A golden beacon amid the ledges.
Worlds without end.
Sycamore awaits the spring.
A partial ice-out opens the river.
White pine and turkey tail cloak a stump at Stevens’ Rock in mid-winter.
Where the ravens fly.
South from the ridge along the Connecticut, high and clear.