5am. The air is chill. Crickets sing lazy goodnight an the sky turns amber. Outlines of mountains, trees and seguaro, profiles sharp and clear. Silent cyclist clicks by. Sweet smell of fresh cut grass - so strange in this desert - as the early morning routine upon the golf course takes its path towards the burgeoning heat. I sit and listen, and watch. My head full of words. Monday, September 19, 2011
San Tan Sunrise
5am. The air is chill. Crickets sing lazy goodnight an the sky turns amber. Outlines of mountains, trees and seguaro, profiles sharp and clear. Silent cyclist clicks by. Sweet smell of fresh cut grass - so strange in this desert - as the early morning routine upon the golf course takes its path towards the burgeoning heat. I sit and listen, and watch. My head full of words. 
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