I sit with my back to the shade of an old forest, my butt cushioned by beak moss. Early morning smells like long angles of sunlight shattering on alder leaves, becoming bright shards that tumble into a fast creek. Water sings over salamander-slick cobbles, furrowing this…
8
After a two-week slurry of cold rain, snow, and hail, Sun has finally kissed the meadow and the old house in the Coast Range. The day has been a…
6
4
Coffee is the most important meal of my day. While it brews, I fire the woodstove with scraps from the rehabilitation of the Johnny Gunter place, pour…
11
5
February sunshine. An intensity of shadows cross-hatched the gray snake road twisting into the Coast Range. After a winter of daylight diffused by cloud…
7
There are a zillion pullouts on a jillion logging roads in the Coast Range, and this one has little to recommend it. It’s just another crunchy gravel…
15
11
Mom always said that her mother “didn’t raise us to become nice old ladies.” She speaks the truth. The list of adjectives seems endless: dogged…
6
4
My native winter habitat is the sigh and drip of needled forests, smell of leaf rot, salamander squirm, and the phallic droop of red alder catkins…
9
14
[My mother taught me to love the unloved. She was really talking about outcast kids at school. But for complex reasons, I’ve come to cast a broader net…
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Words on the Nature of Life