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What The World Once Was
1–2 minutesThis is what the world once was, low wind across dimpled grasslands, a warm, bruised sweep musked with far-pressed rain, gall oaks whistling as air falls through them. This is what the world once was, a far, clear view, long to the east, to the blue shoulders of the Gorge, the river tucked there, imperceptible,
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Spring River
1–2 minutesThe Willamette River has started to thin at the edges, its murky spring sediment swept downstream, emptied into the great confluence of the Columbia, meandering miles and miles before sinking later into the wide, slow Astoria estuary. And so now, if you look into the shallow waters of the Willamette, right along shoreline, you see
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Shoulders of the Sun
1–2 minutesIt is early night. One side of the sky is bleached but halted, waiting for the rose-gold light to reach it, to slowly catch the edges of the kindling, the fibers curdled to a red so dark they are purple; a coagulated flame that simmers low, held steady on the shoulders of the sun.
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Ocean
1–2 minutesWithin the movement, the lifting and falling the wind’s low tremble, the waves are sculpted, patted, stretched, flattened to the long, sprawling curve of the earth, and if you look far enough you can see the stillness, the place where the water plunges to an impossible blue so dark it fades into itself, that long
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