One thunderbolt strikes
root through everything.

        Heraclitus, fragment from On Nature


It’s a fact. A fellow wouldn’t mind seeing it washed up if he could just turn on the rain himself. 
Who is the man can do that? Where is the color of his eyes?
Ay. The Lord made it to grow. It’s His’n to wash up if he sees it fitten so.

        William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying


The earth is round, like an orange.

        Gabriel García Márquez , 100 Years of Solitude


b. 1995 s. florida
living & working in pittsburgh

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recent teaching: landscapedrawingiub.weebly.com
contact: meris.cd@gmail.com