Goes In Waves

 

I walked in our neighborhood recently and crossed paths with a woman, a young girl, and their dog. I assumed it was a mother and daughter—maybe the woman was a nanny, relative, or family friend. I assumed that the dog was theirs too. The girl looked like she was three or four years old and the dog looked like a terrier mix, with fawn colored fur, a broad muscular chest, and a black snout like a Cur. He was leashed and as I walked closer to them, he slowly positioned himself in front of the girl and didn’t take his eyes off me. The girl waved and smiled shyly. When I waved and smiled back, she smiled even more and their dog visibly relaxed. Then the woman nodded at me too.

The park and school are just a block away from our house and a gathering place for families, grade school children, and older youth. It was an early fall day, and the sky was deep blue. I looked back at them as I walked further and saw the girl and dog looking back at me too, so I waved at her again. Then I turned and pulled the hood of my hoodie over my head. It wasn’t cold, but the hood felt cozy, stealth and comforting. I was grateful that she didn’t see me with my hood up from the start and happy that my head and face were visible. It might have made her nervous and she may not have been so open.

While I walked my usual loop around the park, further north, then west and back home, I thought back to when our daughter ran through the park with us and with her friends when she was very young. When she played on the playground equipment, sometimes she asked us to lift her up so she could grab on to the maypole spinner. Sometimes she was flung into the wood chips below as we slowly increased the speed. The first time it happened she was startled and I was alarmed. I lurched forward to pick her up and stopped because I remembered that If I didn’t show concern, she probably wouldn’t either. From then on, we laughed when it happened and she’d ask us to spin her again.

Songs :: I Am the Black Gold of the Sun by Nuyorican Soul, Trans Continental by Shaggy Mane, and Late Show by Laurie Anderson

© C. Davidson

Strawberry Moon :: [Supplemental]

 

Songs :: O My Seh Yeh by Roy Hargrove, I Am the Black Gold of the Sun by Nuyorican Soul, and Train Dreams by Nick Cave

© C. Davidson

Super Market :: [Echo]

 

Photographer Unknown

I’m a creature of habit. My work schedule, my sleep schedule, how I wash dishes, what I wear, and ginger ale nights. I don’t remember when ginger ale became a habit, but I’m reminded of my dad. A few nights a week, he turned the tv off after the ten o’clock news and read from a new novel he’d received from the book club. He sat on the corner couch with a glass of ginger ale and ice sitting on the coffee table next to him. It was also what my mom gave me when I was sick, dehydrated and couldn’t keep anything else down. We ran out two nights ago and I didn’t want to make it a third, so I searched the Cub Foods locations to find the nearest one.

The twenty-four-hour store was further south than I would normally drive to, but the closer ones were closed, and I’d made up my mind, so distance wasn’t a factor. Because of road construction, it was complicated and took even longer than I anticipated, but after fifteen minutes I settled in. I’d been working towards deadlines for days and besides an errand or two, I hadn’t spent enough time outside. So, driving with all the windows open was therapeutic. It was early spring and the air was extremely humid with the haze lit by streetlights. I made two quick stops on the route and pulled out my step ladder to apply stickers to stop signs.

Once I arrived, I zeroed in on the soda pop area avoiding distractions by all the bright colors, shapes, and desserts. There were only a few other people in the aisles including workers stocking shelves. Once I located the twelve packs of ginger ale, I grabbed one, circled back to the front to the one working cashier. When I rounded the corner I was flooded by Dave Mason songs. It caught me off guard because it was so abrupt. I thought maybe it was because he’d recently died, or the store was playing one of his songs and I hadn’t noticed. They weren’t playing his music, and I hadn’t been thinking about him at that moment. In fact, they were playing music I didn’t recognize but We Just Disagree and So High filled my head.

It was an all-consuming feeling; one I’ve experienced before in other ways. It’s not a Déjà vu but feels like it’s related. I don’t think I’ve had a Deja vu since my early twenties. It’s something else—something even stickier, not just a wisp of a memory, but more like a presence. As quickly as the songs appeared, they faded and I stood at the register to make my purchase like I’ve done thousands of times, except this time Dave Mason hovered like echos do.

“Everything I see is an echo I sent to myself from long ago.” Unknown

Songs :: So High (Rock Me Baby and Roll Me Away), We Just Disagree, and Side Tracked by Dave Mason, Took A Walk by Shaboozey, and Fearless by Pink Floyd

© C. Davidson

Clear Eyes :: [Supplemental]

 

Songs :: Show Me How To Live by Audioslave, Them Changes by Thundercat, In the Moonlight by Pearl Jam, and The Lady Don’t Mind by Talking Heads

© C. Davidson

Valleys and Galaxies

 
wind-meadow by soundreality

Songs :: Goin’ Back and See The Sky About to Rain by Neil Young, I Was Young When I Left Home by Bob Dylan, and What Would You Call Yourself by Fink

© C. Davidson

Laika

 

Cosmonaut Laika :: Photographer Unknown

We had three different dogs during my childhood. One was hit and killed by a car on a bridge, one died from distemper, and the third died of old age. I remember all of them—Sambo, Samantha and Pandora. Each of them had their own challenges and tragedies. Day-to-day care mostly fell to my mother, and she wasn’t thrilled about it. She grew up in a farming family who relegated their pets to the barn because they were just fine there, even in winter. They weren't allowed inside the family home, fed organic food, or allowed to tuck themselves into beds to drool on someone’s pillow.

I was born two years after Laika was strapped into Sputnik 2 and launched into space. Laika was a mixed breed stray rescued by scientists. They often captured strays on the streets of Moscow for research. They gave the animals a more stable life, but inevitably they were tested, prodded, and used for questionable purposes. If I’d been alive at the time, I would have been outraged. Even without being an expert on canine physiology, jet propulsion, or the details of her training, I can imagine the horror she must have experienced. They planned to send her into space so they spun her in a machine inside their lab to get her used to what she would experience. Most dogs hide under a bed and tremble from the sound of fireworks because they’re scared as hell and don’t understand what’s happening and why. So, being strapped inside a fiery claustrophobic death tube must have been unbearable.

The scientists hadn’t resolved the cooling system, so after launch, the capsule overheated and stayed at one-hundred-five degrees. They monitored her vital signs and the capsules environment for only a few hours because she died of extreme heat and stress. After five months and 2,570 earth orbits, her body and the capsule disintegrated in earth’s atmosphere. Fortunately it did, because if her body was still out there orbiting, I wouldn’t get over it.

When we were forced to have our dog euthanized over a year ago, we were able to gather around him, hold him and talk to him. Recently on a podcast about dogs, I listened to an expert describe an abandoned pet dying in a boarding facility. She said it searched the room with their eyes, looking for someone, looking for its person, for the people it loved when they were needed the most. They weren’t there. Laika must have been searching too.

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“Dogs and angels are not very far apart.” Charles Bukowski

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Songs :: When It Don’t Come Easy by Patty Griffin, Space Oddity by David Bowie, Bless the Weather by John Martyn, and Amelia by Joni Mitchell

© C. Davidson

Transformer

 

Studio Display Shipping Container :: The Apple product shipping container designers are geniuses. I pulled on two tabs and the entire box unfolded into a buffet of cardboard.

Songs :: I Robot by The Alan Parsons Project, You Wreck Me by Tom Petty, and Even Better Than the Real Thing by U2

© C. Davidson

Near Bolinas

 

Photographer Unknown

Our place is located on forty acres at the base of a small hill mostly covered with trees. We have a dog, a cat, two horses, a few chickens, and a cow. Our two gentle horses are sister and brother and have their favorite walking trails through the trees and the tall grass in the valley. We’ve ridden the paths so often we barely need to hold the reigns. After a ride, we brush them and replenish their feed and water. I tend to overfeed them because there are people a few miles down the road who don’t feed their horse enough, so I overcompensate with ours. If their mare is out while driving past their pasture, we can almost see her ribs, tangled mane and thin patches on her coat.

My wife spent the afternoon making the filling for steamed dumplings, a big batch of kimchi and other side dishes while I did outside chores. Years ago, she taught me how to assemble the dumplings so I can help when she’s ready. When our daughter was young, she helped too and sometimes her friends pitched in. Now she makes them herself in her own home with friends nine-hundred miles from here. We usually make six to seven dozen dumplings and freeze a few dozen for ourselves. The rest go to friends and neighbors. One of our neighbors makes a lot of pies and other baked goods, so we trade with her because my wife loves peach pies. After I finished my chores, I went inside to help. The filling was ready, so we both assembled them and she steamed them while we snacked on the finished ones. After we were done, I napped and then we had dinner. Afterwards, she worked in her studio, and I went to the workshop next to the barn for the rest of the night.

We have a large batch of glazed bisque ware that needs to be fired. They’ve been sitting on carts for weeks. Tonight I’m finally going to load the kiln, seal it and start the fire for the slow overnight preheat. All day tomorrow and tomorrow night, I’ll stoke it regularly to get the temperature up and maintain it; then spend late tomorrow night and most of the following day monitoring it. After the kiln cools in three or four days, we’ll be able to unload it and see what we have. It’s a nostalgic ritual I’ve done many times in college. The peace it brings me now is the same as it was forty years ago—it’s simple and primitive. It’s the perfect activity to do while doing other things that need to get done. Tonight I’m cleaning stalls and milking the cow. After I transfer the milk from the galvanized buckets into glass bottles, the heavy cream will rise to the top which we pour off. We can’t use all the cream, so we give most of it to our neighbor who bakes because she makes her own butter too.

The other project I’m fiddling with tonight is the design of a new gate for the end of the road. We purchased the current one at a farm and ranch supply store in Point Reyes and have imagined something more interesting ever since. I need to learn to weld because I want to construct two large panels mounted to beefy log piers. I’d like to incorporate driftwood, sculpted wood forms, found metal objects, symbols, and maybe even letter forms, all suspended inside steel frames—something Louise Nevelson might appreciate.

Because the second night with the kiln requires less attention, I checked in with my wife more often, worked and spent time with the animals. At 4:00am I got into my sleeping bag on the beat-up leather couch. It’s near the kiln so it’s a perfect place for sleeping outside on cool nights. When I woke a few hours later, I went into the house and made coffee and oatmeal. She was still asleep, so I walked back to the shop and watched the sunrise reveal the thick clouds of fog curving through the valley like they were alive.

Songs :: Sit Yourself Down by Stephen Stills, Clay Pigeons by John Prine, So Damn Lucky by Dave Matthews, Our House by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, and Took A Walk by Shaboozey

© C. Davidson

On Portland :: [Supplemental]

 

Renee Good Vigil :: 7 January 2026 – 93° 16' 4.02" W – 44° 56' 28.95" N – 6:47pm

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For Renee Good and Alex Pretti

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Songs :: Burnin’ Streets by Joe Strummer, Ohio by Neil Young, A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall by Bob Dylan, and On the Nature of Daylight by Max Richter

W i n t e r M i c e

 

I lived in a three-bedroom trailer for two years during college. The trailer court was on the southern edge of town across the street from vast hay fields and ranch land that stretched to the Spanish Peaks. Since critters seek shelter during winter, the crawl space beneath our trailer was ideal for small ones. The mice accessed it easily through the gaps in the skirting and eventually discovered our kitchen cabinets. We noticed signs and heard suspicious noises for a couple of days before finally setting a loaded trap under the sink. It was triggered within a minute. After catching three mice in an hour, we investigated further and noticed a big gap around the sink drainpipe. We sealed it with modeling clay and the mice disappeared.

Years later, in a different town, the design studios were housed in a building built in 1775. Each of us shared a vertical divider between two facing desks with a fellow student. The grad on the opposite side of me was working on her thesis about color and semiotics. Sometime during the winter semester, she asked if we could talk. “Sure, what’s up?” I said. “I see you leave food on your desk.” I responded sheepishly with “Yeh, I’m sorry.” “I noticed some mouse droppings on my desk and a hole’s been chewed in the soft pin-up board between us. I think your snacks are the reason.” She pointed to the corner of the vertical divider where there was a small hole with a gentle arch like in a cartoon. I hadn’t seen droppings on my side, or the hole in the divider, because I had stuff stacked up in front of it. I apologized and told her I’d be tidier. She thanked me and walked back to her beautiful hand painted studies. The indexical signs of mice disappeared.

Thirty winters later my studio became a gathering place for an unknown number of mice. I’d never seen mice or any signs of them in my space, or anywhere in the building before. I’d begun storing wheat in a couple of lidless five-gallon buckets. I was incorporating the chaff into some work and used the bundles for visual reference. Because I worked there primarily at night, I didn't pay attention to what was happening in that dark corner where things were piled up. Once I investigated and saw the infestation of mice droppings and scattered wheat, I had a massive multi day cleaning session. The mice and any further signs of them disappeared.

A few winters ago, I began to hear noises in our semi-finished basement, mostly in corners and sometimes overhead. We had mice. At its peak, the mostly nocturnal noises felt a little like a scene from the horror movie Williard, or from Never Cry Wolf, where the biologist’s wilderness shelter was full of them. I trapped a mouse every couple of days for three weeks. I only saw a live mouse once as it headed to a dark corner where the first-floor joists meet the top of the foundation wall. Eventually I discovered a crack between some foundation blocks outside and patched it with cement. The mice disappeared.

Decades earlier, our daughter owned two pet mice during grade school. She had a cage, a wheel, a water bottle, with wood chips and shredded paper that filled the base. Both mice, Minun and Plussel, were healthy for a few months before one randomly died and the other began to develop a skin condition. She asked if we could take it to the vet. We agreed, so my wife and daughter went, and the doctor examined it with tiny instruments and prescribed antibiotics. The bill was one hundred dollars. My wife was shocked. She kept her displeasure to herself though because our daughter was relieved and happy. We could have bought one hundred mice instead. Sadly, five days later it died too. They’re both buried in our backyard and a rock marks the spot.

Songs :: After Midnight by J. J. Cale, Up To My Neck In You by AC/DC, and Darkness by The Police

© C. Davidson

Untitled :: [Supplemental]

 

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For Renee Good and Alex Pretti

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Songs :: Heroes by David Bowie, I Will Be Your Shield by Billy Bragg, Let It Burn by Shaboozey, The Revolution Will Not Be Televised by Gil Scott Heron, Fearless by Pink Floyd, and People They Don’t See by The Free Reign

© C. Davidson

Lost and Broken Things

 

My phone loads stories while I sleep and many of them are dark. When the alarm goes off, I tap ‘snooze’ a couple of times before finally giving in, then check my notifications, texts, emails, and Instagram feed. My blood pressure spikes and remains there before I’m even vertical and dressed. I can taste the adrenaline while I head downstairs and walk through my wife’s studio grumbling, even while she greets me with a warm “good morning.” I don’t always respond warmly and possibly scowling. I hope to make changes this year — shed patterns, coffee before checking my feed, and implement something different.

Family members, our microwave, our stove, our deck, the north side of our backyard fence, a toilet, a molded plastic handle from the washing machine, our car, our brave dog, a floor lamp, my desktop computer, enormous branches from our silver maple tree, finally the entire tree, and a tooth, are some of the people and things that passed away, broke, disappeared, or have been replaced. It feels like far more than a bunch of coincidences. A friend recently mentioned his theory of ‘clumping’ and thought it might explain why there have been so many things. We haven’t discussed it at length yet but will eventually, because we talk about everything in detail during long Friday lunches. Working through things with him, my wife and daughter, and other close friends in faraway places is proof I’m still connected and part of a tribe.

Information overload piles on more every day, even more losses, and the daily grieving. It’s exhausting, heavy, and discouraging. People are being kidnapped, beaten, gassed, sprayed, humiliated, and murdered in our streets. Taking a break from the signal alerts, self-care, setting things aside, even reading for pleasure feels like denial—then guilt sets in. However, doom scrolling devours hours, days, and often blocks the good things. Learning to detach without guilt and feeling uninformed if I do take a break is a struggle. It’s a relief when the algorithm shifts and lets in positive stories. Stories about Aloka and the monks, communities and mutual aid, marching, one hundred kids riding their bikes to school together, deep space images revealing nebulas we might have come from, rescued animals, dog bloopers, and architecture blogs, are all half full. Things that remind me it’s not only darkness, but there’s a lot of light and grace out there too. We’re not alone. I’m not alone. Not everything is broken.

Han 한.

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“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother's words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world." Fred Rogers

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“Let’s have more discussions while we eat food.” Source Unknown

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Songs :: Heroes by David Bowie, Revolution Blues by Neil Young, For What It’s Worth by Buffalo Springfield, In the Moonlight by Pearl Jam, Let It Burn by Shaboozey, and 24 Preludes, Op. 28, No. 4 in E Minor by Chopin

© C. Davidson

O u r S t r e e t s :: [Supplemental]

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother's words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world." Fred Rogers

Songs :: Heroes by David Bowie, Revolution Blues by Neil Young, Sabotage by Beastie Boys, Can’t Find My Way Home by Steve Winwood, Let It Burn by Shaboozey, and 24 Preludes, Op. 28, No. 4 in E Minor by Chopin

© C. Davidson

G i c h i – G a m i

 

Satellite View of Gichi-Gami

Wind and Waves

In 1975, the Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Gichi–Gami (Gumee) and not long after, Gordon Lightfoot wrote his classic song about it. Twenty-nine men drown in what experts said were historic gales and maybe the biggest waves the lake has produced. I was a sophomore in high school when it happened, and don’t recall hearing about it, or thinking about it if I did know.

The lake feels wild everywhere, but further north it looks more wild and feels even more like an ocean. That’s where I saw winter sea smoke and pancake ice for the first time. If you keep driving, you’ll end up at the border of Canada. I’ve never crossed the border into that part of Canada, but I know two people who are from the Thunder Bay area. One of them bought a painting I did because it looked like the view through her window there—staring at the Sleeping Giant peninsula across the bay, while her cup of tea steamed in front of her. I wasn’t thinking about a specific place when I painted it, but after finishing, it reminded me of when I stood with my family on a gulf beach in Florida scattered with bonfires, and Jupiter was near the horizon. What others see probably isn’t what I see and that makes me the happiest. Sometimes my work feels like a collection of pieces and associations that don’t suggest one thing, or one specific place, but encourages everyone’s places, memories, and stories.

Further east along the southern end of the lake near Bayfield one fall weekend, I was happy because we had dinner at a small restaurant that served comfort food. It had big, divided windows and the interior was paneled with milled driftwood, dark shingles, and strands of colored micro lights that lined the rafters. We also discovered a coffee and pastry shop, a diner, and a working farm with a store selling local crafts inside a huge hay barn. We stayed in a simple motel near the water for two nights after escaping the city to spend time near the lake, and in the woods of paper birch, aspen, and white pine. Besides exploring that weekend, my wife and daughter read a lot while I read little and drew more. All of us napped and slept under a variety of quilts and comforters while outside the water lapped all day, all night, and everyday along the beach.

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47.7°N 87.5°W

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Songs :: The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald and Sundown by Gordon Lightfoot, Trans Continental by Shaggy Mane, Simple Twist of Fate by Bob Dylan, and Sail On Sailor by The Beach Boys

© C. Davidson

Kansas City :: [Supplemental]

 

Songs :: Kansas City Southern and I’ll Change Your Flat Tire, Merle by Pure Prairie League, Southbound Again by Dire Straits, and Country Road by James Taylor

© C. Davidson

Green Room and Dogwood

 

Our front porch is surrounded on three sides with the original fixed screens and operable in-swing windows. It used to have a two-person wood swing on one end suspended from a nailing joist above the wainscot ceiling. It came with the house and hung there for years after we moved in. Once in a while we swung in it as a family, or while I looked through the mail, but I remember it most clearly when I swung our toddler daughter in it. The more she got used to it, the higher I pushed. Sometimes she looked concerned, but her smile grew too, so I didn’t stop. The light filtered in through the arborvitae and the large red twig dogwood on the east side, and vines on the south side. The light interacted with the color of the grey green painted ceiling and gable, then filled the room with hazy green air.

Our long-legged tabby cat usually appeared when there was action on the porch. He’d leap up and sit on the low cabinet close by to watch us, but mostly studied our daughters’ movements. She studied him too and sometimes she draped him in scarves and beads, and made a perfect floral head wrap like he was royalty. He was often the star of her videos and photographs. He’d sit patiently until she finished because he trusted her and she often ended with a kiss to his head. Close to the windows the dogwood created a strong shifting pattern, a loose grid of red and brown branches that swayed gently on windy days. Our cat noticed the movement first and looked for the small birds that visited and congregated inside the bush. Our daughter saw him look, so she stopped what she was doing and searched for birds too.

Sometimes when I relaxed on the swing and looked through the dogwood, the boulevard trees came into focus. People and their dogs that passed by were visible too. Inside, the fall light transitioned from green to gold and crimson because the dogwood leaves were changing. Then winter eliminated most of them while the remaining ones hung on until spring when they finally dropped. Once spring returned and things began to grow, the porch turned warm and green again. If any of the windows were open, sometimes the smell of cut grass, lilies, and lilac drifted in.

“What Do You Dream About?” “Home.” The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse

Songs :: Everyday Life and O (Hidden Track) by Coldplay, Déjà Vu by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Something Fine by Jackson Browne, and Took A Walk by Shaboozey

© C. Davidson

Grieving Trees :: [Supplemental]

 

Songs :: See The Changes by Crosby, Stills & Nash, Woods by George Winston, Comin’ Back To Me by Jefferson Airplane, The Dreamer by Immanuel Wilkins, and Goodbye by Emmylou Harris

© C. Davidson

Flowing Wells

 
Prairie

We drove 70mph on Highway 200 through rolling hills, flats, bluffs, and thick sage like a carpet as far as we could see. Sometimes turns in the road were gently banked which always makes driving feel even better. We listened to podcasts, music, snacked, my wife practiced her choral music, and sometimes she napped. I drove, daydreamed, and kept watch for any sudden movement near the road. Initially I was disappointed with the route and a little pissed that she even suggested it. I had a different one in mind that included certain sections of road, specific views, with familiar food and coffee stops. Change is difficult sometimes, but my overreaction to her suggestion was ridiculous. The route turned out to be a great choice because it saved us time; we learned some geology, paleontology, and saw country we hadn’t in years.

An hour after leaving Glendive, the orange ‘road construction ahead’ signs started to appear. At first the speed limits were reduced periodically for unknown reasons. Maybe they were slowing us down to get us used to what was ahead because eventually we found ourselves stopped at a make-shift traffic light. It was red when we arrived and stayed that way for twenty minutes. Two-way traffic was reduced to one lane, so cars had to alternate. My wife napped soundly during the stop, and I listened to the prairie through my open window. Finally, the pilot vehicle arrived followed by five cars passing in the opposite direction. Once they passed, the driver turned around, the light turned green and she led us west through the torn-up asphalt, drop offs, gravel, and soft dirt. Even after our twenty-minute stop, there were only three vehicles in our cue— the pilot vehicle, a pick-up truck pulling a fifth wheel camper, and us. We followed at the rear just outside the dust cloud. After ten miles of a makeshift road, everything abruptly returned to normal. There were dump trucks, excavators, bulldozers, water trucks, and other escort vehicles gathered where the highway changed.

Eventually we arrived at the Flowing Wells rest stop and took an extended break. After using the bathrooms, we spent time reading the points of interest signs. We learned that the biggest dinosaurs like Tyrannosaurs, Triceratops, forty-foot-long crocodiles, giant lizards, enormous birds, and other swimming reptiles lived in and around a shallow sea right where we stood. When it wasn’t under water dividing the continent in two halves, it was a hot, humid subtropical coastline of marshes, rivers and river deltas with dense vegetation. It changed to grassy plains further west where we were headed. Flowing Wells and central Montana were unrecognizable seventy million years ago.

We left the rest stop and settled back-in to the rhythm of the road. Driving at full speed again felt especially fluid as we left the Hell Creek Formation and the geologic dome the information sign said we were in. A few hours later as we approached Lewistown, the Little Snowy, the Big Snowy, and the Judith Mountains appeared on the horizon which surprised me because I’d forgotten they were there.

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“The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.“ Carl Sagan

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Songs :: Nature’s Way by Spirit, Heartless by Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats, Green River by Creedence Clearwater Revival, Desert Skies by The Marshall Tucker Band, and Hot Sun by Wilco

Universe Concept — Hubble and James Webb Telescopes, Astrophysical Journal Letters :: Hell Creek Dinosaurs — Wikipedia

© C. Davidson