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Behind the Fog
1–2 minutesWhen I see fog, I think of sunlight. I think of the string of clear days at the beginning of each December where the sky blushes blue and cold. I think of a stream I once saw, tucked into a shore-pine forest by the ocean, how I wandered there at dawn in a sea of fog
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Past and Future
1–2 minutesHow can we ever belong to this place? Here, lands were stolen and degraded, peoples were killed and sent away. Here, the future is threatened by rising waters, beetle-withered pine forests, dry winters; by emptiness, and loss. What’s already happened, and what is to come–they are two stone walls on either side of us. At
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City Life
1–2 minutesThis is not enough. Grass, and horse chestnuts, purple-leaved plums and the maples whose names I do not know. They are lovely, their leaves shaken off by last night’s wind, but behind their nakedness is the lined gray pavement, the dense, impermeable skin, where my footsteps are visitors. At night I look for the stars,
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Coyote Gulch
1–2 minutesDown low, in the golden grass, I sit and watch the scrub oak, bled of sun, and the cottonwood, who stands below us in the canyon, his leaves immovable in the warm silence, the bright walls, the dying sun, the painted light, the circular, dry plumes of wind, the crickets and the stream, the long
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