Michael Jones
Michael died, as everything must; Michael lived, as too few do.
Here we gather all the bits and pieces of his life, his weird volatile fantastic bizarre beautiful scary joyful life.
Michael saw beauty everywhere, it was a special skill.
Often Michael stopped while on walks to take photos of flowers, he’d wander in the backyard for new flowers and bugs to show me. He’d stop to look at the moon before we walked to the car, stop to feel the sunset on his cheeks.
