geoffreyrockwell:
beans at the flea market
geoffreyrockwell:
all those pockets hold little things
geoffreyrockwell:
the back garden in the sun
geoffreyrockwell:
the calm waiting look
geoffreyrockwell:
someone's put fresh bibs on the old stones
geoffreyrockwell:
what was he thinking?
geoffreyrockwell:
written on slips of wood for the dead
geoffreyrockwell:
what is it like for the tree
geoffreyrockwell:
the old grave stones are stacked up at the back
geoffreyrockwell:
this was left behind on the bench
geoffreyrockwell:
someone burned the map
geoffreyrockwell:
wet green
geoffreyrockwell:
zen gravel with leaves
geoffreyrockwell:
look into the woods with umbrella
geoffreyrockwell:
they haven't raked the zen garden recently
geoffreyrockwell:
the little shrine above
geoffreyrockwell:
around the rock
geoffreyrockwell:
trees before the palace
geoffreyrockwell:
one stone bridge in the distance
geoffreyrockwell:
what little winter sun off the door
geoffreyrockwell:
see the turtle in the pond
geoffreyrockwell:
my panels cover more
geoffreyrockwell:
I think this is the perfect bike
geoffreyrockwell:
that rule on the wall
geoffreyrockwell:
the view is great, but there are tourists
geoffreyrockwell:
golden detail
geoffreyrockwell:
the last view before you leave
geoffreyrockwell:
the yellow slippers didn't fit
geoffreyrockwell:
the last umbrella
geoffreyrockwell:
what silver paint
