“A Golden Grove” is, of course, a poetic device. It is the special, late afternoon glow that photographers chase. It’s the warm, sweet, powdery smell of olive blossoms, with their promise of golden, flavorful oil, so central to cuisines of the Mediterranean. A Golden Grove might call to mind pictures of Japanese parks that in Autumn are a sea of golden Gingko leaves. It can be the field of golden flowers captured between the legs of oak, maple and poplar trees, nestled in the mountains I love like a second skin.
For me, this is a place that my musings can find home. And in that it will be many things – poetry, fiction, non-fiction, photography, politics, hopes and dreams.