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 consternation of fifty-million-year-old mountains. Ears gather the tweet and burble of
I read your lyrical description of your surrounds while crows get drunk, fight, caw, and fall from our cherry tree. I need to know what beak moss is and fall in love with that Lewis Woodpecker. Your students are so lucky to have you. Generationally, we note our place in this world. I have come to love my wisdom and crone status. You bring to their attention the way of the elder like a Trojan Horse, slipping it to them in an understory of language. So happy you exist.
You've done it again, Tom. I simply love your use of language and the way you touch on so many important issues. Your students are lucky to have you and to see how you experience this world.
I read your lyrical description of your surrounds while crows get drunk, fight, caw, and fall from our cherry tree. I need to know what beak moss is and fall in love with that Lewis Woodpecker. Your students are so lucky to have you. Generationally, we note our place in this world. I have come to love my wisdom and crone status. You bring to their attention the way of the elder like a Trojan Horse, slipping it to them in an understory of language. So happy you exist.
You've done it again, Tom. I simply love your use of language and the way you touch on so many important issues. Your students are lucky to have you and to see how you experience this world.