I am never going to get it Right. What I know: I hunger to connect. With the land, with people. Is there a different way to visit another universe? I hunger for wildness. And so I pause to walk the length of my gravel driveway … Continue reading Prayer Life on the Mountain, August 2021
So, here is what was supposed to be. You were going to bake with cast iron for our 10-year anniversary, and I would craft a kickass haiku. Something like… Blueberry pie night’s Snow moon blinks on salt water Beach sand sugar beams But these words, … Continue reading The Poem That Never Happened
He clears a back room, so I may have a writing space of my own. He tells me, “Why not? Just write. Let me support you.” He plans to one day build a writing cabin. He can do this because his hands belong to his … Continue reading Let Go
And then the snow. On the cusp of Advent. I mop and vacuum, just in case the paramedics may need to carry one of us away. It is the season of preparation. Since watching the Great British Baking Show, we’ve taken to eating shortbread in … Continue reading Black Friday
Grateful to Relief Journal for giving this piece a home!
6:00 a.m. Wake to simultaneous smartphone alarms – one twinkle, one stardust. This is marriage. Coffee and egg. Wheat Montana toast. High Country News and big wonders. What will Missoula Valley look like in 100 years? Why did Connie disappear? Did ____ find a … Continue reading Friday Field Report from the Wilderness Institute November 9, 2018
I never thought I would write this letter, but, of course, you saw this coming. Six months apart frays the rituals of a marriage. I tried at first. I was faithful in the beginning. I was Mountain; you were Central. And then, one night, when … Continue reading To my love,
What a joy it is to find a permanent home for my essay about the intertwining thresholds of place, identity, and marriage. Thank you, Arkansas Review!
As you walked toward your mother’s rose gold coffin, the Arizona air made me want to wrap you in a delta blanket and feed you homegrown tomatoes. Blow kisses on your belly like your father. Rest your head in my lap during those humid tent … Continue reading After the Vigil
We wake to the gray light glow of a Japanese paper screen- To rain patter on a bedroom window and iPod ocean waves tossed on repeat. I roll to my beloved and kiss the sleeve of his white shirt- Push from the bed … Continue reading Gods for a Day
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