monday – friday
All I know about Jonathan, who died at this rural intersection, are his birth and death dates.
He was born on a Monday and died on a Friday.
Separate from his cross, there were three others; they were wooden and unmarked.
Lynn County, Texas
photographed 2.28.2026
just one saint at a time
Not to reveal too much about how much language amuses me (because honestly, it’s sort of embarrassing), but I did entertain myself saying “saint rest” in various ways.
Like a command to a wayward and wrongly-named dog: SAINT! Rest.
Like a mild way to say “fuck on off.”
Like an end to a prayer, in place of “Amen.”
Or the name of a particularly lackadaisical cleric – Saint Rest.
And so on.
But what really amuses me the most about this sign is the implication that, while they are willing to accept saints, there is a one-saint limit. Presumably for safety reasons.
Tahoka, Texas
photographed 2.28.2026
thumbprint
the passage
An abandoned farmhouse on the High Plains tells a story – a story of dreams, of rural traditions and expectations, of change, of endings.
An abandoned farmhouse with a wheelchair ramp tells a story that seems more complicated. And more sad.
Lynn County, Texas
photographed 2.28.2026
an agrarian society
Just across a dry and sticker-infested field from yesterday’s boat picture is a little church with the world’s saddest playground next to it. Just to cite one example of how dismal it is, this hobby horse is the best thing there. And it feels like it’s trying to get away from a crime scene.
Levelland, Texas
photographed 2.28.2026
One Day | One Image 