november poem

The end of year, and end of epic
A receding sun adorns;
The snows that all around descend;
When boughs and minds will finally bend;
A whiteness un-described by pen
Recalls a truth forsworn:
That life will be reborn.

NB 11.24.07


Abandoned houses

Krit, my roommate, and Jill, my photography friend, went to Herbert ID, which is a ghost town now. There were more old houses in the woods but my photos didn't come out well. These two buildings on the bluff were stores. The big building was probably a school. We had to drive down long dirt roads and walk over farmers fields to find this place. But it was worth it. I owe my sense of exploration to Dad, whose birthday is tomorrow. Happy Birthday.



It is important to know that Rembrandt was probably the best etcher who ever lived.