Archive picks

I passed a man on the highway Sunday night as the sun set behind the lower Santa Rita peaks. He was far from anywhere and no man belonged out there alone without wheels that day even if his jaunty walk looked like he knew where he was going, and wanted to get there fast.

Ahhhhh monsoon season. I love the rain. I like the green hillsides and croaking frogs—the storms that break out in the middle of the night with heavy rain, gale-force winds and lightning, not so much.