This morning I caught an intimate glimpse of an older, local gentleman strumming his ukulele, serenading a gravestone.
The joy, poignancy, and nuance of island living strikes the deepest of poetic chords.
Minus the I.V.
One of 10 locations left in the world.
The world.
The whole thing.
Just cruising in the backyard.
True Life: My Brother is a Botanist.
Kol Tov.
✡
Let the transcendent transformation continue...
Con Amor.
Title: Septuagenarian Role Reversal.
My heart swells as my eyes well with love for these little ones.
Our Nation's cuisine.
Sometimes in life, it just takes some huevos* to get the job done.
* which, contrary to popular usage, when speaking in biological terms applies more aptly to the female anatomy than the male.
...I'm a cult leader.
Kinda wish I woulda' known.
Kinda glad I didn't.
Sweet Equine Angel.
You know how come.
To endure that level of slime factor in ones morning libation, the reason must be noble.
