explore  biotic community 

I will never again be the person I was when I wrote those poems or took those photographs.

Sweeping across dirt, the cold breeze tugs at brown, waterlogged leaves. It rained yesterday. Small red berries, like bits of melon,...

The sun sets on wrinkled rose hips. They bob beside the tracks approaching Grand Avenue while underneath a leafless tree floats a ghost...

As I open the door of my car, the beetle rushes by. It hobbles over the pebbles baked into the asphalt, speeding over the yellow parking...

The fly rests near the ragged, juicy plum skin, wind coursing over its iridescent thorax. Stripes of moss fill cracks on the wooden...

The two-striped grasshopper waits while the wind gusts, and the crabapple tree whispers through its leaves. The clouds speed across the...