Words are in my photographs, as the soul is in the body. The soul needs a vehicle, a container, a home to inhabit. My words don’t *need* pictures (despite the Medium editor’s opinion) and my images need no description but they are somehow symbiotic. Nesting dolls, one inside the other. Music too. And flowers

When all the words have faded, and the camera sits, waiting, while the garden is quietly wilting, music, that magnificent messenger, you ethereal angel; carry me, to the greater realms of glory.

LBM 4/25/2021

Sweet pal o mine

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