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The smell of wood smoke rises from the old stone chimney of the Ramble In if my eyes are closed and my head held at a proper tilt. I can feel the thin Rocky Mountain air in my well-adapted young lungs and hear pine needle covered trails crunch under my feet as I scramble up,… Read more
Far far away, many many years ago in a Kindergarten classroom on the last day of school, five-year old Dominick gave me a little clay duck. Well, I’ve always called it a duck but truthfully its identity is a bit vague. You decide. To reveal the immediate thought that ran through my head might paint… Read more
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