Rain muscled into ravines, shouldering roots aside like brawlers drunk on storm gin. Stones rattled in their throat, coughing echoes up the canyon’s spine.

When light leans in to listen, you get this picture.

Reading this folded glass wings into my blood like blue dust.

Yesss! This is where tired souls go to rest.

This caption hums frost vows beneath molten dusk skin softly.

This caption carved night into molten lace pressed against my lips.

This caption draped frost ribbons across hush petals softly.

I use design to bring clarity to confusion.

I let my garden grow a little wild—it feels more honest that way.