windmills, dykes, and pickled herring

Oh how I love pickled herring!

snow and sea

Yesterday, on the limits of Istanbul.

the monk's valley

Like pious monks in peaked caps, rushing off to vespers.

the red valley

the violets in the sky

desolate

If it weren't for the power lines that stretched thin across the sky, or the occasional small herd that promised a shepherd, I could have been convinced that we were the only two people in existence.

landscape

the land and the sky

driving south

heaven is

The roar of the Atlantic. The smell of wild thyme, rosemary and sea salt. Green hills dotted with violet, blue, magenta, and yellow. Cerulean skies with white wisps of clouds that form elongated fish.



The wind in your hair, the sun on your face. A loved one's laugh.



I'll say it again: Portugal is intoxicating. Now, Spring in Portugal...
My, oh my.

sketches of oman, part 2

...by the sea, in the desert.