Afternoon dust and a crow’s personal opinion.

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Watching hawks at the dirtjumps by the railroad tracks. A great deal of beauty flying over my head. A group of crows in the scrub brush near by exclaim their disapproval of what I see as a flying painting. There will always be that bird that disagrees with you it seems.

When the sun sets I head inside and sit at the desk. look onto the page and develop the film from my memories right there in my own darkroom with lights on bright.

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