So Much Depends Upon....

I was 17 when I read the poem by William Carlos Williams about a red wheelbarrow glazed with rain beside the white chickens. That's about the whole poem. I wanted one. A wheelbarrow. Not green or wooden. A bright red wheelbarrow. I bought one last summer. This is it.

Stairway to heaven

Vine

Kathleen

If you lived here you'd be home now

Drought

Junkie


Copyright 1995