An October Barely Represented by Photos
A working man is a lazy man, his soul crushed literally by the weight of the salt mines that have collapsed on him.
There’s only time left to snuggle and run errands. Walks are for a purpose beyond entertainment.
The sun sets earlier and rises later, and the heat of our Indian Summer has been slaughtered by White Man Winter.
Under the covers, the working man daydreams of five year plans, zombies, and Lego blocks.
He doesn’t have energy for taking photos, or working on secret projects. But he wishes he did.
My patented mold maker.
Forced smiles.
Reflected legion light.
Patina problems.
The majesty of art.
Lawn drain.
Original, rejected, lyrics to Britney Spears’s first hit song.
Bee on a paper flower.
Cones.
Sand trapped.
Boat boot.
A painted drain cover.
M speaking at the Oakland Library.
Book signing.
Quilting detail.
J, the master quilter.
When a male tree sees a pretty female tree.
Laundromat.
Shanghai noodles.
Shanghai dumplings.
The backside of the Balboa Theater.
Camo path.
Gargoyle.
Patched pink cracks.
Sherbet lane.
A confusing marker.
A bold girl.
Colorful cathedral.
Subterranean delivery ramp.
Webbed fence cover, covered with web.
Overgrown machinery.
Quick, let’s jack it.
A raven eating bread.
A new trail through the Presidio.
I had a mushroom THIS BIG.
New growth.
Sap.
The headlands.
A path down to the beach.
Melted honey bucket.
Double safety rail.
Quick, hide the car behind the bougainvillea!
Brussels sprout pizza: healthy?
It’s already the end of October and still no one woke me up when September ended.
I’m looking in your direction, Billie Joe.