The Meadows, IV: High Noon
THE MIDDAY SUN pulses pale heat, blasting insects or animals careless enough to ignore it. Even the thick, lush grasses blush beneath the noon sun, and eventually break down. Part Continue reading
Author: Russell Steven Powell
The Meadows, III: Swallowed, 10 a.m.
THE SWELLING SEED HEADS of the grasses bend beneath their own weight, swaying seductively in a soft breeze. To enter is to be pulled into a rolling wave of slender parting, Continue reading
The Meadows, II: Anthers and Antennae, 8 a.m.
THE MEADOWS ARE TEEMING, thrumming, thriving with life, most of it plant or insect. They are symbiotic, and many bugs take on the appearance of their companions, unseen among the Continue reading
The Meadows, I: Summer Sunrise
THE PINK AND PURPLE HUES this dawn presage a glowing hot day. The air already shimmers in the diagonal rays of the rising sun, although there is no breeze yet. Continue reading
Warehouse Art
ANYONE WHO HAS TAKEN an art class over the past quarter century probably will recognize these warehouse paintings. The spare, often dark, sometimes sad shells of industry still ooze machine Continue reading
