Dana Crandell
Bio
Dad, Stedpad, Grandpa, Husband, lover of Nature and dogs.
Poet, Writer, Editor, Photographer, Artist and Tech/Internet nerd. Content writer by trade. Vocal Creator by choice.
Stories (152/0)
She Carries the Fire
Please ignore the gangly geek in the photo. I almost chose a different picture with only that beautiful lady on the right, holding the graduation and honors certificates presented to her that day. Instead, I decided to embrace the fact that she insisted on sharing the stage with her awkward little brother. The family resemblance is strong, but even in this innocent snapshot from simpler times, her grace and strength shine through. Mine? Let's not go there.
By Dana Crandell14 days ago in Families
- Top Story - February 2024
Bringin' Home the Grub
I captured the photo at the top of this story in 2016. It's one of my favorite bird photos, for several reasons, starting with the fact that it was taken in my back yard. I mean that literally, not figuratively. Another reason was that it required no blind or stalking. It's a portrait of a friend.
By Dana Crandell25 days ago in Earth
Playtime in the Pines
The entire Paradise in the Pines community had gathered at the huge, central meadow to take advantage of the unprecedented, but welcome, 30 inches of fresh snow that had fallen overnight. The clear, crisp air rang with the laughter of children and adults, interspersed with excited barking.
By Dana Crandellabout a month ago in Fiction
A Wild Ride in Wyoming
It was a bright, cold morning and the weather report ensured that the short drive to work would be interesting. Overnight, high winds had pushed deep snow into massive drifts and filled roadside ditches, leaving them indiscernible in the vast expanse of white. Such was the cost of living and working far from “civilization” on the edge of Interstate 80 in Wyoming.
By Dana Crandellabout a month ago in Fiction
- Top Story - February 2024
Spunky's First SnowTop Story - February 2024
Spunky peeked out of her brightly painted little barn in the green countryside, in wonder and fascination. Gingerly, she extended her soft, pink nose to sniff the fluffy, white blanket that had covered everything during the night. Her little nostrils filled with the cold, wet stuff and she sneezed, shaking her head and kicking up her heels. “Whatever could this be?” she said, aloud.
By Dana Crandellabout a month ago in Fiction