Like fingers flipping through pages
My spirit transcends the ages.
Once as a golden hair lass
Another, a warrior behind a mask

Raincrow

I am but my own potter
I shape, I mold
I scupture my life
I choose the clay
and the color
Only I and no other



Raincrow

The other day I fired up the old chainsaw to cut the trees that had fallen during the ice storm this pass winter . The entire day was spent wiping sweat from my eyes, taking stretches to loosen the old muscles. By days end, I was totally exhausted, but damn it felt good. To be out doors , feeling the warming air of spring blow in my face as I looked around and saw budding life upon the trees and bushes. Already my... read more