We follow the dusty, white caliche toward water downshifting along the way, driving slowly through the bends and curves of the road. The...

The Moon climbs above the mesa. The Milky Way spreads her wings. The Big dipper shifts in the sky, and the Sun chases away the dark. I...

I am my best in a spiral notebook, wrinkled and blowing pages. In the solitude shared with animals, that silent language we all speak. ...

I didn’t always love myself, you see? It’s not enough to simply show up. It takes purpose to shed the paradigms that others place upon...

(as published in the Fall 2023 Cenizo Journal) This is a story of a horse and the girl who loves him. I lie back on the picnic bench and...

So I fill in the blanks. It is, and I am... and every now and then it will be. I ask myself that every day. When the power goes out, the...

We drive until the pavement ends and then drive some more through an old mining town turned touristville where dilapidated cabins mingle...

The big dipper pours a mixture of sludge and hope onto the mesa and in the glow my headlights a fox runs across the highway I am...

I'm afraid the rainy season has come and gone and there is nothing left now but to move into cold and dry and sit, listening for that...

At night the ghosts come out. They roam the corridors of my mind and wander the graveyard of my soul - the parts I thought I’d put to bed...

(as published in the Spring 2023 Cenizo Journal) This morning, when I went outside as I always do to greet the day and smell the desert,...

I lay back on the picnic bench and dip one toe into the sand. The wind rustles through the strings of my cut off shorts and I can just...

I am a flannel shirt person, tank top underneath, scrappy jeans and boots below. Button down flopping in the wind and straw above my...

The dogs lie panting, tongues lolling sideways. It seems they are constantly panting these days. The air is still. The only other...

I sit here in the place of those before me, riding the same trails, gazing on the same mountains. Washing my face in the same spring...

Is it okay to fall? To doubt and retreat from the battle. To look in the mirror and not like what you see, loving the imperfectness of it...

There is life in the brush under the deadwood Hidden Waiting to come out To stretch and yawn with arms wide open We step along a trail of...

Sometimes you need to stand in the wind. Sun on your face, tangled hair be damned. To walk barefoot in the sand. To sit on the steps and...

A Mayan city of rock flat topped with squared edges mingles with the turrets of Arabia, the desert asphalt transitions into limestone and...

Lonely is a learned and weighty thing to carry. Harder still to hold. When the sky casts its shadow across the mountains and the sun...