Straight lines are meant to be broken

Back to the one place I always return to.

It's spring time in Virginia. The oaks and maples are shaggy and green, blackberry brambles and honeysuckle vines are expressing themselves in tangled blooms of white, and the air is warm, not yet hot. Just right.

I've noticed whenever I come back here in between journies I tend to linger near this field down the road. Sometimes when the horses are near the fenceline I cajole them over to feed them grass out of my hand. I like the way their big rough lips tickle my palm.

Having returned this time last spring from another long hiatus I remember snapping a photo right here, my first blip. Its satisfying to complete the circle.