His parents weave baskets. How could they have known their son would leave and strike out against corruption? Become a hero hungering for...

Nothing is still. A bluebird, blue, careens down from a redbud tree stops short picks quick then returns to flaunt its flailing catch...

How might we end? Light bends and because of our lenses we think atoms, matter, but all is gradually undone; glaciers down-graded, icons...