Door
Door On gray days we write poems of Gaucín’s whitewashed houses reflecting blue sky, pink roof tiles, houses cascading down Continue reading
Door On gray days we write poems of Gaucín’s whitewashed houses reflecting blue sky, pink roof tiles, houses cascading down Continue reading
Why Does the Dandelion Roar? Poet: What, my dear friend, is the dandelion’s bane? Plant: Not the slug, nor the Continue reading
Still Life with Tortillas 