Songs Without Words

I always look out the window before I close the blinds to go to sleep. By now I’ve been indoors a couple of hours, more in winter. Pleased with my warm friend-sewn blanket and wool slippers, some essential element is missing. I cannot put a day to bed without first greeting the night. Mostly I … More Songs Without Words

Aftermath

I haven’t been through my canyon since the last big storm. Some things have changed. The route, for one, and I’m wearing the wrong pants for the detour. A douglas fir – average size – has snapped off near its base and splintered along the path. Chickadees are chasing each other through the rubble, a … More Aftermath

Hold Hard

The winter sun is doing that thing where you can’t see it, but you notice its gloss everywhere. The broad wash of the estuary spills out of a corner of rainforest in a purple-blue that actually catches my breath. The color is oncoming night, though the sky says nearly noon. Waterlogged land stretching flat along … More Hold Hard

Left Over from Eden

A loose and floating day, the end of summer-green. Breeze all afternoon, white cumulus on the move. They remind me of the geese I heard this morning, stroking purposefully into the sunrise. The air moves like water in a summer stream: cool fingers ceaselessly caressing, only the half-playful hint of chill. Where I live, intrusive … More Left Over from Eden

Dear Reader

The goal of Trail-A-Week was 52 essays. In August of 2015, I realized that I wouldn’t be a writer until I let my bones show. I’d already understood – gradually, after 24 years of doing it – that I am not fully living unless I am writing. But aside from a few (utterly nerve-wracking) published bits, I’ve written … More Dear Reader