A weekend ramble. A few miles west, I stumbled across this solitary sleeper of the plain harvesting light in its blades. I toted a single pole tripod and camera plus a pocketbook of poetry. Robinson Jeffers: 'Solitude that unmakes me one of men / In its white hands brings singular recompense'.
The weekend before, I caught this blanket of blue azure descending toward the plain (or, are the white poultice clouds being lifted to declare cerulean rule?). A Chippewa saying: 'Sometimes I go about pitying myself and all the time I am being carried by great winds across the sky'.