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Ocean
90 wordsWithin 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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Cottonwood Canyon
444 wordsThe river—pale-brown with sediment, the color of fossilized soil—moves in one great heap, a sweeping rush like wind through a tunnel, and I swear I can feel it, the low-down coolness it forms from itself. The river is high, and in places it has risen halfway up the willows and alders, painting dark rings on…
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Great Blue Heron
95 wordsYou there,scraping through the salmonberry leaves, slow-footed in the chutes of terraced clay, your eyes yellow, and seemingly lidless, the kind of eyes that belong to fish or reptiles. You walk, each step halting, perched, one leg lifted, talons stretched like spider-web, like an octopus wrapping its cloth body over a fish, parachute-like, the knobs…
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The Forest Swan
545 wordsI woke up just before dawn. For a moment I laid there, watching the wind smooth the fabric of my tent, its touch gentle, like a hand pressing lines from a t-shirt. I could hear the rest of the group outside, whispering to each other, rattling metal coffee mugs and plastic cereal bowls, their silhouettes…
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