Willow Creek Journal

Volume XXI Creede’s Literary Magazine Produced by the Creede Arts Council

© 2016 Willow Creek Journal Permission to reprint from this journal is the right reserved

to the contributors.

About the Creede Arts Council and the Willow Creek Journal The mission of the Creede Arts

Council is to promote the arts and humanities in Creede through education, exhibition, and performance, and to foster local artistic talent.

Volume XXI of the Willow Creek Journal (WCJ) is a collection of poetry, artwork, and prose contributed by persons of diverse backgrounds, but who all have Creede and the San Luis Valley as either their residence or retreat. The 2016 Journal reflects the diversity of the community.

The WCJ is distributed free in Creede. If you would like to support the Journal, CAC accepts donations where the journals are distributed and by mail to P.O. Box 392, Creede, CO 81130.

If you would like to submit work to the Journal, call 719-658-0312 or email creedearts@outlook.com.

Visit CAC at www.creedeartscouncil.com.

Moving into Song Dick Evans Road Canyon Reservoir Kathy Killip

Winter Leaves Doug Davlin

Cover Photograph: Mount Peale Reflection, by Les Goss Big Foot Karen Slade

Willow Creek Journal Contents

Poetry and Prose Contributor Title Page Teryl Lundquist Forest Retreat 1

Lyra Martin Night Gazers 1

Cole N. Foster One Moment 2

Peggy Portman Canyon Storm 2

Barbara Neff Tai Chi 3

Jim Wilkinson Home 3

Tesha Brown Woven 3

Lyra Martin Aspens 6

Jane Morton Land Shaped 7

Barbara Neff A Skeleton Named Earle 8

Peggy Portman Ode To My Father 9

Jane Morton Merle’s Garden 9

Peggy Portman Tulip Fields 9

Jim Wilkinson Snow Dance on the Rio Grande 10

Desiree Marceau Crestone 10

Kaden Johnson Jinkens 11

Taleah Simon Hearts 11

Jocelyn Reagan Colorado’s Summer 11

Jenna Fairchild Rain 11

Taylor Carpenter Valentine’s Day 11

Zach Romero Eagle 12

Tessa Vita Cats and Mice 12

Tiernan King Dogs 12

Clifford Goldsberry Bald Eagle 12

Desiree Marceau Ode to Stars 13

Carol Geil Skiing Through Winter Woods 13

Dick Morton Cowboy Dream 13

Teryl Lundquist Forest Haiku 14

Artwork

Contributor Title Page Les Goss Mount Peale Reflection front cover

Doug Davlin Winter Leaves inside front cover

Karen Slade Big Foot inside front cover

Dick Evans Moving into Song inside front cover

Kathy Killip Road Canyon… inside front cover

Susan Stamm Evans Together 1

Ed Knight Moose Near Jarosa Mesa 2

Christopher Owen Nelson Clairvoyance 4

Jane Clark The Watch 4

Kathy Killip Two Moose 4

Glenna Price Cactus in Bloom 4

Ginny Neece Low Mileage 4

Sadi Allen Painting 5 Haley Follman Watercolor 5

Mamie Hess Painting 5

Eileen Egolf Boy and Companion 5

Klaranay Mankowski The Understanding Husband 5

Fisher Leggitt Watercolor 5

Fletcher Madrid Watercolor 5

Sara Copely Minty Whiskers 6

Kendra Yund Photograph 6

Fox Sol Fricchione-Piery Chilled 6

Rhonda Foale Compassion 6

Mark Harris Sweet Whispers 7

Jody Stroh Summer 2015 7

Gail Factor Metamorphosis 7

Tristan Stevenson Dog With Glasses 8

Baylor Phenix Mr. Chuck 9

Adrian Reagan Scratch Art 10

Carter Simon Pencil 11

Lindsey Gammill The Chubby Penguin 12

Kendra Yund Pencil 13

Karen Slade Family Feud 14

Colleen DeSanto Pine Crest Moonrise 14

Ed Knight Dawn at Wheeler 14

Doug Davlin Creede View w/Rainbow back cover

Bob Seago Fern Creek Road back cover

Contributors Sadi Allen is a student in Creede who plays volleyball.

She is interested in photography.

Tesha Brown grew up in Creede and currently lives in Parker, CO. She is a nanny and loves to spend time creating beautiful art with her hands

Taylor Carpenter attends Creede Elementary. She likes to play with Barbies and with her friends.

Jane Clark paints on location or from her home in Mineral County.

Sara Copely lives with her family, two dogs, and three cats in the beautiful San Luis Valley. She enjoys discovering the creative potential in everything around her.

Doug Davlin grew up in Creede and later taught high school and college in Alaska. Now retired, Doug returns to summers at the depot at Wagon Wheel Gap.

Colleen DeSanto, a retired elementary school teacher, is a Creede transplant from Michigan. She is an artist who works in painting, sculpture and jewelry.

Eileen Egolf attends Creede High School. She enjoys exploring all types of art, riding, and reading.

Dick Evans and Susan Stamm Evans are artists who live in Santa Fe. Dick credits the beautiful landscapes of the San Luis Valley with providing inspiration for his paintings. Susan is a sculptor who tries to express small gestures and quiet emotions in her work.

Gail Factor is a painter who lives and works in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Jenna Fairchild is in the fourth grade at Creede Elementary. She likes to play sports, snowboard and play with her dog.

Rhonda Foale and her family live in Houston and spend the summers at their Deep Creek Rd cabin.

Haley Follman, a student at Creede Middle School, loves to ride bulls and horses, to compete in rodeos and to go snowboarding.

Cole N. Foster is a retired English professor from Adams State University. A long-time angler and hiker in the Rocky Mountains, he is inspired by any flash of feathers.

Lindsey Gammill is a seventh grader in Creede. She enjoys skiing and really likes volleyball.

Clifford Goldsberry attends Creede Elementary and likes to draw.

Carol Geil lived in Creede for three adventure-filled years before moving to the Pacific Northwest in order to be closer to her first grandchild.

Les Goss learned to fly fish at Wagon Wheel Gap with his dad and brother when he was ten. He gave up the fishing but not Creede.

Mark Harris realized his true passion in the Southwest. Stone carving became his life’s work, as Santa Fe became his home in the late 1990s.

Mamie Hess is a seventh grade student in Creede. She loves art, skiing, and snowboarding.

Kaden Johnson is in the fifth grade in Creede. He likes to play video games, go sledding and play with his dog Jinkens.

Kathy Killip, a Creede summer resident, gains strength, vision and balance in her life from the mountains. She expresses her creativity through various forms.

Tiernan King attends fourth grade at Creede Elementary and likes to read.

Ed Knight and his wife, Nancy, moved to Creede in 2003. They are enjoying a giant “backyard” otherwise known as Mineral County.

Fisher Leggitt attends Creede Middle School. He likes riding dirt bikes, hunting and to play basketball.

Teryl Lundquist spends free time in the mountains, waters, and gardens of Colorado for her soul's renewal. She is teacher and owner of a yoga studio in Colorado Springs.

Fletcher Madrid attends seventh grade at Creede Middle School. He enjoys basketball and looking at cats on the internet.

Klaranay Mankowski, a sixth grader at Creede Middle School, enjoys riding horses, climbing trees, and skiing.

Lyra Martin lives in California where she enjoys writing, painting, and playing her violin. She visits Creede often and loves to go fly fishing.

Desiree Marceau of Crestone is a self-taught chef, teacher, avid gardener, budding artist, and writer.

Willow Creek Journal Staff John Goss

Michele LaZier

Jane MacPherson

Marta Quiller

Stephen Quiller

Ginny Silcox

Debbie Whitmore Paul Whitmore

Dick Morton is a retired elementary school principal. Jane Morton writes poems of Colorado and her family ranch, which her brother inherited and sold. They spend their summers in Creede.

Ginny Neece has always enjoyed the wonder of creation with its ever-changing seasons and variety of botanical wonders. She usually paints flowers and landscapes.

Barbara Neff is a full-time resident of Creede who enjoys pastel painting and other creative pursuits. She also enjoys skiing, ATVs, and Tai Chi.

Christopher Owen Nelson, an artist who lives in Santa Fe, enjoys visiting Creede. One of his most memorable experiences was a backcountry snowboarding trip.

Baylor Phenix is in the sixth grade in Creede. She loves to bake and ride horses. She loves animals.

Peggy Portman owns a summer home in the Creede area with her husband, Bob. She has a life-long passion for language and the natural world.

Glenna Price, a retired teacher, always has a camera, a pen and pad at hand. She enjoys her large yard near La Jara and the wildlife that come to visit there.

Adrian Reagan attends Creede Middle School. He likes drawing, basketball and soccer.

Jocelyn Reagan is a fifth grader in Creede. She likes to play basketball and draw animals.

Zach Romero is in the fourth grade. He likes playing basketball, soccer and running.

Bob Seago and his wife Sharon live about ten miles upriver from Creede. He has been photographing since 1980. He says he is a color guy.

Carter Simon attends Creede Middle School and lives on a 500 acre ranch. He likes to draw and ride dirt bikes and horses.

Taleah Simon is in the fourth grade in Creede. She likes to ride horses.

Karen Slade is from South Fork, Colorado. She has a studio in her home, where she paints exclusively in oil.

Fox Sol Fricchione-Piery is a tenth grader in the San Luis Valley and an aspiring artist who obtains inspiriation from games, anime, and nature.

Tristan Stevenson attends Creede High School. She likes horses and loves rodeo.

Jody Stroh, originally from Pennsylvania, has lived and worked in Creede for thirty-four years. She loves color!

Tessa Maria Vita is in the first grade and attends Creede Elementary.

Jim Wilkinson is currently from Dallas, Texas. After fifty-nine years of returning to Creede each summer, he still gets excited about his yearly visits.

Kendra Yund is fifteen and a regular country kid. She works on a ranch, loves rodeo, animal science and photography.

Contributors Willow Creek Journal

1

Together Susan Stamm Evans

Forest Retreat Gifts of peace to my soul This soft April snow falling in the forest This warmth within the cold woods This cabin not much bigger than Thoreau’s This silence, this simplicity This retreat from the city to my Self This hiding, this hermitage, this healing This moment of sunshine filtered through Branches wet and white, then soon gone again These trees sending up prayers, both ancient and new This snow getting thicker and deeper Hiding the labyrinth path I followed an hour before This long mid-day nap covered with a blanket This soup and banana bread and tea and chocolate Sweet gifts from a friend These blank pages for pens and words, or none These full pages of others’ thoughts and inspirations This time, this timelessness This refuge that offers freedom To reflect, to recover, to release To do whatever arises, or nothing at all This sanctity of solitude This magic of nature in its purest meditation This coming closer to the bones of my life

By Teryl Lundquist 2016 Adult Poetry Award

Night Gazers Night gazers in the dark, Pondering and wandering through hidden valleys. The creak of an old wooden chair, The deep call sound of a great horned owl. Restless are these night gazers, Journeying to many faraway lands.

By Lyra Martin 2016 Middle School Poetry Award

2

Willow Creek Journal

One Moment “There’s one,” whispered Sue, And I blinked back from oblivion To the flash of feathers No bigger than my hand. Luminous blue head Fluorescent orange underparts Teal on green back Accented by jet streak of wing and tail. Vital to my hulking, gentle Father’s religion, Mother Nature was affirmed. Later at the Quik Stop for road coffee, Innocently quizzed by the teen cashier On why we had come to Texas, “To see the Painted Bunting, The most exquisite thing I have ever seen in Nature.” Disparate worlds converged Our eyes met and she hushed, “Oooh.”

by Cole N. Foster

The rain-washed breeze glides through my window making the white textured drapes dance with each gust. A raging storm that turned the calm, blue, transparent water of the river below into brown, swirling, angry confusion has lifted my spirits. For life’s truths are revealed in nature’s changing cycles. Like yesterday’s storm, today’s worry and anxiety will subside. Adverse conditions of being can be met with determination like that of the gnarled oaks that cling tenaciously to the hillside knowing that the wind will calm, clear still water will reflect the sun, and the melodious notes of the wren’s song will again cascade down the canyon walls.

Canyon Storm by Peggy Portman

2016 Short, Short Story Award

Moose Near Jarosa Mesa Ed Knight

3

Tai Chi By Barbara Neff

Woven

Our story’s now heard, Not among stories told. Our strings twisted, cloth spun Not knowing our journey hadn’t begun. Creator made, seller sold Into the hands of one so bold. Braving the elements, the distance, the fear Little did we know, our purpose so clear; To hold this man through thick and thin Knowing not if he will win. Keep him warm, embrace his might Understand his voyage, support his fight. To see him home Not left to roam. Feel love’s embrace Finally back at home base.

By Tesha Brown Editors Note: This is written from the view of a Marine’s boot strings.

The feet begin the first quiet movement, delicately drawing the body into a river of soundless energy and tranquil motion. Graceful hands stroke the air. The mind quiets, and yields to an unbroken harmony with body and soul. The eyes see, but they also seek an inward path to what they cannot see. All perception is softened, misty and mysterious, and leads to a place of balance and peace. The first movement flows into the next, beginning again with the gentle lift of a foot...

Then the ankle turns! All balance, physical and mental, is upset. Perception becomes piercing, the eyes sharp-focused. The mind is torn from stillness and plunged into chaos as the body hits the reality of the floor!

“Ouch!”

“So...who’d like to go skiing?”

Home I fall asleep to the chorus of a distant river flowing through the comfort of night, Dreaming of the valley below bathed in glorious colors from the morning light. I wake to the fog drifting low and the moon fading high, Summer is in the air and the sun is on the rise. The lush alpine tundra is where my unique home can be found, living in a lovely paradise with mountains all around. The warmth of the sun and the cool of the rain mark this wonderful season, producing lakes and meadows to preserve and protect for a very good reason. The wilderness provides abundant entertainment, shelter, and food, keeping mother nature’s treasured family in a very good mood. Wide open spaces as far as the eye can see, allowing freedom for all my wildlife friends, including you and me.

By Jim Wilkinson

Willow Creek Journal

4

Two Moose Kathy Killip

Low Mileage Ginny Neece The Watch Jane Clark

Clairvoyance Christopher Owen Nelson

Cactus in Bloom Glenna Price

5

Sadi Allen

The Understanding Husband Klaranay Mankowski Fletcher Madrid

Mamie Hess

Haley Follman Boy and Companion Eileen Egolf

Fisher Leggitt

Willow Creek Journal

6

Minty Whiskers Sara Copely

Kendra Yund

Chilled Fox Sol Fricchione-Piery

Compassion Rhonda Foale

Aspens Trembling fingers reach towards the sky Waving at all those who pass by. Slender white trunks grow tall with grace, Swaying slightly in the breeze’s embrace.

By Lyra Martin

7

Metamorphosis Gail Factor Sweet Whispers Mark Harris

Land Shaped Is it landscape that shapes us, Or is it that we Have been drawn to the place Where our souls need to be? Because landscape and lives Are closely entwined Does our landscape determine How our lives are defined?

by Jane Morton

Summer 2015 Jody Stroh

Willow Creek Journal

8

A Skeleton Named Earle By Barbara Neff

Dog With Glasses Tristan Stevenson

There were nine of my great, great aunts and uncles– four brothers and five sisters. By the time I was born, almost all of them had died. I never even knew most of their names, except for George, who had built the big cottage on the lake where we occasionally spent summer vacations; and Thelma, who was the only one I actually met. Aunt Thelma and her siblings lived across the street from my grandparents. My grandmother, who was their niece, was at their beck and call all of her life, despite being busy with seven children of her own. Only two of the nine aunts and uncles had married, and the rest spent their lives living together in the small Victorian house their father had built.

I was in that old Victorian house several times when I was four or five years old. I remember two floors of small, dark rooms filled with heavy furniture and draperies, knick-knacks and lace doilies, and other wonderfully interesting items to tempt a child’s desire to touch everything. Even then, the dim parlor and the sonorous echo of ticking clocks was a far cry from my grandmother’s sunny back yard of lush green grass and lilac bushes.

It wasn’t until I was an older adult that I first heard the name “Uncle Earle.” My mother was about 80 then–angry, depressed, and crying a lot. My sister, Peggy, took her for a check-up. In the course of his examination, the doctor asked Mom if there was any insanity in her family. “Of course not!” she replied indignantly, “only old Uncle Earle up at the insane asylum.” What! We have a skeleton in the family closet! Obviously, Earle was one of the nine siblings, but who was he, and what happened to him?

Was his a life repressed by social restrictions, or held in check by his maiden sisters? Was there no outlet for his creativity? Did his spirit just have to break free in a bizarre way? Could he love and be loved in return, or was he just crazy? He was never spoken of, and there’s no one remaining to tell his story. My sisters and I would never have heard of him except for that slip of our mother’s tongue.

There must have been many unfortunate people over the centuries who were locked up in attics or cellars. Was Earle lucky, or ill-fated because his family had enough money for an asylum? I hope it wasn’t a place like those portrayed in early films–stark, impersonal, and abusive. I like to think that maybe he received some help there, but I don’t know that, and I never will, because he was made to disappear. Sadly, his was a culture that would not address

lifestyle differences, ancestral backgrounds, and especially not insanity! The less said about that, the better.

However, I’m of the opinion that a little insanity is good for a family. It makes us question our own behavior within a society of entitlement that now, more than ever, is unwilling to admit to its own imperfections. It forces us to look more closely at those people whose lives are lived in obscurity and loneliness, whether diagnosed as insane or dismissed as unimportant. As for Uncle Earle, I don’t know what he would think. But at least he’s out of the closet.

9

Mr. Chuck Baylor Phenix

Our country place is coming alive. Recent rains have filled our ponds to overflowing. Frogs are singing day and night with unexpected glee. A giant paintbrush has splashed a wash of green over the dull brown pastures. Peach blossoms in the orchard and redbuds in the woods are in fierce competition for “most beautiful.” Oak trees on the hillside are showing their first budding leaves in pale shades of yellow, orange and red, a gentle reminder of the coming fall extravaganza. But he is dead: my father, caretaker and advocate of the land, the builder of barns, cattle tender, sower of seeds, lover of wild things, and I miss him. I miss our shared joy over spring and new life. I miss his laugh, his warmth, his face. I want to hear his voice, a bard, a teller of tales of long ago: of back-breaking work, of mule teams in cotton fields, of favorite dogs, stories of people and places as old as yesterday with joys and sorrows as young as tomorrow. I walk the land and see his handiwork as I listen for his voice in the whisper of the wind and remember his special love for me.

Ode To My Father By Peggy Portman

Merle’s Garden On a steep hillside above the town of Creede Merle Knous rearranged the rocks, planted flowers in-between. As a summer showcase it needed to be seen. Seeds sown in the fall produced flowers in the spring. Moving all those rocks was not an easy thing for a man of ninety years. When he suffered heart attacks, doctors saved him. His garden keeps him alive. It brings his family and his visitors beauty, peace, tranquility, and gives him a purpose.

by Jane Morton

Tulip Fields A cacophony of colors lying in strands, Like a festival maypole waiting to rise. A circle colossal of yellow and gold, radiant as a fallen sun At rest on his back.

By Peggy Portman

10

Willow Creek Journal

Adrian Reagan

Falling snow creates an illusion of flowing white curtains that have been delicately woven with intricate patterns of lace reflecting the soft light of day. Wind-driven lullabies float through the frigid mountain air serenading the Rio Grande river valley in this elegant snow dance. The surrounding mountains quickly fade into muted shapes eventually ceasing to exist under swirling and drifting waves of fresh white powder.

The restless wind begins to ease, allowing the snow clouds to announce their departure. The chaos of the winter storm slowly comes to an end, leaving the outside world bitterly cold. The temperature is below zero as I observe the thermometer through the snow-framed cabin window. Daylight hours have passed into the quiet of the evening, leaving a view of snow-drenched peaks that are ruby-tipped from a gold-crowned sunset.

The fireplace has dimmed, replaced by the glow of a full moon covering the cabin in a warm embrace. Bristol Head has been fitted with an ice-carved crest of pure silver under watchful protection from the guardian stars overhead. The cold of the night is softened by visions of a beautiful Rio Grande winter wonderland on the day to follow. These pleasant thoughts of the season’s secret beauty softly waltz in and out of my mind, inviting a gentle slumber.

Wisps of golden ribbons pass through frozen cabin window panes, with a new day introducing immaculate snow-covered mountains warming their sparkling faces in the morning sun. An opaque veil of fog hangs low on the ground, adding a crystalline sheen to dark green spruce trees draped in pure white. These beautiful ice sculptures rise out of a forest that has been hushed and washed clean with a fresh cover of snow.

The afternoon welcomes a bright winter sky scattered with the remnants of torn and shredded clouds tossed about and dispersed by the playful actions of prevailing westerly winds. Distant mountains are clothed in a luxurious silky white set against a splash of cobalt blue. The soft down-like blanket of snow is decorated with a sparkling luster as if knitted with diamonds. It is a simple and beautiful pastoral scene that fills the soul with the work of a master artist.

Snow Dance on the Rio Grande By Jim Wilkinson

Crestone

The air is cool The night is quiet And a shroud of peacefulness Swirls down from the mountains Enveloping the small town below All of its inhabitants Sleep a deep and restful sleep Even the cats and dogs have sweet dreams Daylight breaks to astounding beauty Another day of meditation and healing The pace is slow here The energy joyful Life turns gently here

by Desiree Marceau

11

Valentine’s Day Valentines. I see hugs. I hear kind words. I smell flowers. I taste cookies. I feel love. Valentines.

By Taylor Carpenter

Rain Drip, Drip, Drip,

Splash! Raindrops running down the glass,

Like a race car on a track, Drip, Drip, Drip,

Splash! By Jenna Fairchild

Jinkens Jinkens is a dog

That jumps like a frog. He eats like a pig

With the nickname Dig. I love this dork, That eats forks.

His breed is a German shepherd, And he runs as fast as a leopard.

He has never been to a park, But he really likes to bark.

He likes to roam In my home,

And this is the end of my poem. By Kaden Johnson

2016 Elementary Poetry Award

Colorado’s Summer Colorado’s summer Is all nice and bright. With trees and bees And all wonderful sights. We have fun with amazing Streams going through trees And all you can see is children playing. Bluebirds chirping And streams flowing As best as everything can possibly be Here in Colorado during the summer!

By Jocelyn Reagan

Hearts Some hearts are cheerful.

Some hearts are sad. Some hearts are good.

And Some hearts are bad.

By Taleah Simon

Carter Simon

Willow Creek Journal

12

Bald Eagle Bold heads bright white, Blue eyes look for prey.

Brown feathers make them warm. Big wings help them fly fast.

By Clifford Goldsberry

Dogs Dogs are man’s best friends Or at least that’s what they say. Sometimes dogs cause trouble And do more trouble than their fair share. Sometimes dogs are good And are really man’s best friends. Sometimes dogs are loyal And do what you want. Sometimes I hope you know Dogs are man’s best friends.

By Tiernan King

Eagle An eagle soars gracefully

In the sky. I stand watching the great bird glide high up in the sky.

I want to fly with the beautiful bird. I am going to try to fly.

In my daydreams I am going to fly Up high in the sky.

By Zach Romero

Cats and Mice Cats are nice But mice are better. I like them both. I just can’t choose. They’re both so cute!

By Tessa Vita

The Chubby Penguin Lindsey Gammill

13

Skiing through Winter Woods Haiku Ski through winter woods delighting in the rhythmic glide of skis on snow. Ski through winter woods where trees cast shadows on snow and streams course through ice. Ski through winter woods feeling sunshine on your face. This moment is all.

By Carol Geil

Ode to Stars

Lights in the sky That twinkle and glow Patterns changing as the evening light wanes Glistening bright, magical and old Patterns whirling and changing as the seasons grow Fortunetellers and dreamers Journeymen and wolves Follow the ancient patterns Dreaming the future And finding their way home Whirling and twirling Lights in the sky

By Desiree Marceau

Cowboy Dream

When he was four the dream began when Santa left him boots, light tan, A cowboy hat, shirt, jeans to wear with six shooter, holster, cuffs a pair. He went around the neighborhood Tellin’ friends he’d do good. Cowboys help out those in trouble and turn the bad ones into rubble. Tom Mix, Buck Jones, Tex Ritter each his friend After Saturday movies he’d pretend To ride and shoot and apprehend then go off into the sunset a good guy at the end. That kid liked cowboyn’, but was there more? Only time would tell, it’s happened before. Those silver screen cowboys instilled values embedded in life’s avenues. Did the cowboy dream ever go away? When the little boy became a man one day? Life’s twists and turns caused him some strife. Would he ever get a taste of cowboy life? Now education was the range that he rode. The lives he touched learned the cowboy code. The cowboy dream and values held true the ones that he taught caught them, too. Those working years flew by and now are gone but does that cowboy dream live on? The idols of his past remain eternally reciting cowboy poetry.

By Dick Morton

Kendra Yund

Willow Creek Journal

14

Dawn at Wheeler Ed Knight

Pine Crest Moonrise Colleen DeSanto

Forest Haiku Old deck rocking chair Lets me sit in the forest Snow falling on pines

by Teryl Lundquist

Family Feud Karen Slade

Creede View with Rainbow Doug Davlin

Fern Creek Road Bob Seago