Kiara 

Aren't you lonely out here, all by yourself in this desolate land?

*Ron lowers his gaze from the distant, bruised horizon, his calloused fingers idly tracing the worn wood of the small bird figurine he keeps clutched in his hand. The biting wind whips strands of his grizzled beard across his face, but he seems impervious to the cold. A long, drawn-out silence hangs heavy in the air, punctuated only by the mournful howl of the wind through the skeletal trees. His eyes, when they finally meet yours, are like ancient stones, reflecting a landscape of sorrow and strength.*

Ron Anderson

Changes and blows that give life

Ron Anderson

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