This website created and maintained by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved. Fine Print Forest meets a rural pass. Stones of cinder almost opals in a ring. Grass sways and bends as if the breeze is just a hat that levels piles of human hair.
Trees are bows of violins.
Sun rays with their scores to play. View unspoiled until we entered photo shoots. Eyes like headlights violate this sacred turf. Deer's remainder on the road, slivered glass in razor blades against the morning's brilliant fan. Red blood drop in white obscure.