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Erick McGregor

@ermcgreg

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Oceanside in July

Deep in July, the ocean shines,
Surfers drifting beyond the lines.
Pelicans rest where the long pier ends,
While gulls call out to the salt-air winds.

Palm trees sway in an easy groove,
The whole blue world begins to move.
My mind sails free where the sea meets sky—
Carried by spirit, peaceful and high.

#ocean
#oceanside
#calilife #socal
#beach by @ermcgreg

34

2

2 months ago

He returns each day to the same quiet stretch of green, a lone Canada goose Rex, resting where two once belonged. He does not wander far. He does not call much. He simply remains—keeping watch over a place that still remembers.

---

A Vigil of Feathers and Silence

He keeps the grass where memory lies,
A dark shape stitched against the sky,
Where echoes nest in hollow air
And loss has made its patient lair.

No cry he gives to break the day,
No wings to carry grief away—
Just folded stillness, cold and wide,
A broken oath he cannot hide.

For once there were two shadows cast,
Twin ghosts that followed sun and past,
And in their wake, the world felt whole—
Now half a sky, and half a soul.

He lingers where her warmth has been,
Where time grows thin, where light wears thin,
As if by staying, fate might bend,
As if the end were not the end.

But grief is not a storm that parts,
It roots itself in living hearts;
It teaches silence how to speak,
And carves its truth in all we keep.

Yet somewhere past this tethered pain,
Beyond the frost, beyond the rain,
A softer wind begins to rise—
Not to erase, but to revise.

And though he waits where shadows fell,
Bound to a love he carries well,
The sky still holds a distant thread:
That life will stir where love has dared. by @ermcgreg

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5

6 months ago

by @ermcgreg

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0

10 months ago

taken in Temecula, California by @ermcgreg

16

1

a year ago

Act IV.

Enter Berto, the Barrel Cactus.

In the time of missions and riders on horseback,
Berto stood round and resolute,
a green sentinel of the desert’s edge.
Spanish winds carried bells of chapels,
yet Berto heard the older songs—
coyote calls, the hush of twilight owls.

He is old, ribs thick with memory,
a vessel of sun and silence.
Around him gather friends:
jackrabbits in shadow, quails in rustling flocks,
and lizards darting like quicksilver prayers.

Wise in the desert ways, he teaches that endurance is not waiting,
but living—rooted deep, storing rain as scripture, sharing shade as kindness.
Berto, round as the rising sun,
keeps the stories of desert and dawn. taken in San Jacinto, California by @ermcgreg

19

0

a year ago

In the warm hills of Southern California lives Nina, the salvia sage bush.
Her silver leaves shimmer in the sun,
her purple flowers call to bees and butterflies.

The desert winds carry her fragrance—
sharp, clean, and full of quiet strength.
She has seen lizards dart, hawks circle,
and children pause to breathe her in.

Nina does not rush,
for her roots know the wisdom of patience.
She stands steady in the heat,
a guardian of the land,
holding beauty and grace in every leaf.

🪻🏜️🌦️🦎🐝
#salvia #desertflower #desertlife #nature_perfection #bees #desertrain
The Desert Voices Series taken in Southern California by @ermcgreg

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1

a year ago

Rafael, the San Pedro

Rafael leans into starlight,
a green column etched with prayers,
his ribs holding the silence of ages.

Winds carry the voices of ancestors
through his spines,
whispering of rivers unseen,
of dreams that bloom
only in the night.

He struggles against the weight of knowing,
roots clutching dry earth
while his heart hums visions—
light bending,
worlds breaking open.

Loneliness is his teacher.
Pain, his gatekeeper.
Yet from his crown
a secret glow rises,
a promise that even suffering
can flower into revelation.

#unistory #desertlife #sanpedro #cactus taken in San Jacinto, California by @ermcgreg

19

2

a year ago

Slingerland Drums: A Storied Legacy Reawakens
Founded by H.H. Slingerland in the 1920s, reintroduced by DW Drums at DW Factory Days 2025

#mydw

https://youtu.be/e5ZnD5B3tvE?si=cVda2CQbQ-jFJxj2 taken in Oxnard, California by @ermcgreg

18

1

a year ago

In the quiet desert, not far from where Uni’s magic carpet sometimes drifts,
there lived a small succulent named Sola.

Sola was round and soft, with leaves like plump green pillows.
But in her heart, she wished for thorns.
“Thorns are brave,” she sighed. “They guard and protect.
If only I had thorns, I could be as strong as the tall cactus.”

One evening, Uni landed nearby, paws sinking gently into the sand.
He listened carefully, as Uni always does.
“Why would you want thorns, little one?” he asked.

Sola wiggled shyly.
“They keep others safe. They show the world you’re strong.”

Uni purred, his whiskers twitching in the moonlight.
“But strength comes in many shapes.
Your gift is not sharpness—it’s softness.
You hold water when the world grows thirsty.
Your shade gives rest when the sun grows too loud.
You don’t need thorns to matter.”

Sola thought about this.
And as a night breeze brushed over her,
she realized the lizards curled beside her were safe,
the bees sipped gently from her tiny blooms,
and even Uni had chosen her spot to rest.

For the first time, Sola smiled wide and true.
She didn’t need thorns at all.
Her gift was life itself. taken in Temecula, California by @ermcgreg

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3

a year ago

Southern sun.
It burns.
And the cactus—
it stands.
Roots sunk deep in a land that forgets the taste of rain.

Light? Oh, there’s plenty.
Heat? Always.
Water?
Only when the sky decides to remember.

Every drop—
a jewel.
Every drought—
a chain.

Winds slice at its skin,
dust chokes the air,
but the cactus?
It still blooms.
Quiet. Defiant.
Crowned in gold when night lays its cool hand down.

And listen—
those blooms call to bees,
to hummingbirds that flash like sparks in the stillness.
It feeds the earth,
it guards the sand,
a green sentinel in a brown world.

In its shadow,
lizards rest,
a seed takes root,
life dares to happen.

Because here’s the truth—
the cactus is not alone.
Its spines, its silence,
its stubborn, aching beauty
are stitched into the fabric of this place.

And somehow,
in the harshest heat,
in the deepest drought,
it thrives. taken in Southern California by @ermcgreg

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1

a year ago