Rowdy glides through
the same dog-paths...

There are shavings and
dust and laughter...

Two shadows lurk on moonlit deck
as Halsey is reuniting the fleet...

Finca Magdalena grown
beans roasted fresh pick'd...

Mid July summer is sad
less than half left...

Cool
humble...

Learning something new every day
is not necessarily a good thing...

Archer casts aspersions at the sun
crying light blinded aim...

Leaving my bedroom sleepy and bleary
I chanced to look at the darkened spare room...

The boughs droop low;
even the tree is overcome with sadness...

Travel the back roads of America,
find yourself on a two-lane highway...

Most poignant:
my frustrated blast...