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A Painting Of A Woman With A Sword Art

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

urban street with city activity

The San Gorgonio Pass, Mt. San Gorgonio) rises in the North, all hoary-frost and granite. Snake-like clouds adorning her peak, I gaze past the big white house toward her uplifted boulders.
And at the South, Mt. San Jacinto has lost his head in cloud. Burned bones against a blue sky backdrop. Between the two, another sunrise gleams and beams of brilliant, white-hot day flash forth: They accentuate the Sonora desert’s west extreme, and last night’s moon forgot to go away.

At his Grandmother's house in Penang, Wing Sun is lying down on a futon in his bedroom, covered up with a beautiful lightweight quilt Grandma made. Outside his room the rain is coming down. In Penang, every corner of the old town—every whisper of the wind through ancient trees—seems to echo with promises of renewal and love. And as the rain softens outside, Wing-Sun closes his eyes with the comforting knowledge that every detour, every farewell, is simply a step toward a new beginning. A lantern gives soft light to the room, and all is quiet.

bicyle resting against a wall

bicyle resting against a wall

bicyle resting against a wall

bicyle resting against a wall

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