Software with a Grin

Santa Fe nights

Times past, a dark road climbed the mesa: now, a jeweled strand of headlights.

Atop, Santa Fe lit the distant foothills. Streets now etch once-dark scrub. The evening glow spreads farther south.

It is my root.

These days

I weave words and websites by hand—that simple. Close to home.

A pessimist thinks the glass is half empty. An optimist thinks it's half full. A webmaster thinks the glass is twice as big as it needs to be.

My threads are crisp and and clear. Free flow. No bushwa.

¿K?