Moab and the Voice of ancient Gods
Moab. The name itself emits a deep tone — like an ancient god whose voice still rumbles the valleys. Under a Super Flower Moon and against burnt red canyon walls, the desert reminded me that we're made of stardust, that we are very small, and that nature will tell us what we need if we sit still long enough to hear it.
Concrete Rose
A quiet Monday morning. Two small daughters who look at me in awe. A longing I can't quite name. A poem about stillness, fear, fatherhood, and the part of life worth remembering — to live it.
A head full of Clouds
On a dock in Belize, the sun setting behind me, the clouds turned into the cast of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. A lioness, an elephant, a turtle becoming a dog. A shooting star for the encore. A reminder to look up — and to see the world the way my daughters do.