What do I know, it just happens. This shot across the Talpa valley shows you where the snowline is. There’s a certain glory in this mess that’s helpful in a crunch, and am I not addicted to the drama, anyway? I spit on you, you ugly beast. (No, not this!) The days grow short but more intense. Less whine, more steel, the captain says, and kiss the girls on your way out.
Fingerpaint of God
Telephoto from the back yard
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It’s sad when the days grow shord.
Beat up on a man when he’s down, will you?!?
[If you tuned in late, the reference is to a typo since corrected.]
This reminds me of the time my wife played piano with an ensemble at a gathering at a fancy house north of Taos. The host was the semi-retired set designer for the Seinfeld show, among others. Had a stuffed buffalo head on the wall, 12-ft sofas, yada-yada-yada. I was exhausted and shy and maybe a little drunk when I introduced myself, saying, “Hi, I’m the pianist’s…uh,wife. NO, wait! Geez…” (I have no idea how that happened.) A few minutes later, the dude introduced me to someone else, saying, “This is the pianist’s wife” and breaking into laughter.
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” I said to him.
“No, I’m not!” he replied.