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Queen’s Cup
1–2 minutesSee the mats of clematis running across the trees like mangled telephone wires; notice the dry dirt beneath the ivy, how gray it looks, how it is sickly compared to the rich, dark mountain soil that is gossamered with those little flecks from the edges of fir cones, and peppered with roots of things, pipsissewa
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The God of the River
1–2 minutesThe river is opaque and fogged-over like sea glass unpierced by even the sharpest sunlight, its layers amorphous clouds of sediment and algae, almost brown, almost green, almost orange at the edges, slipping past you in the way of wind, catching on logs long buried, their arms reaching and rough and barnacled, their arthritic branches
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Winter Gray
2–3 minutesYesterday was the winter solstice. Today, it feels like the sun didn’t even rise. There’s the residue of it, the low-seeped daylight behind the clouds, but there’s no warmth; no casting of light upon the pavement. Just a gray sky the color of wet stones. We live in the Pacific Northwest, but I find it
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The Forest At Night
1–2 minutesIn the night there is a certain silence; a vacant hum under which everything is neatly muffled, all the sounds buried low amongst the mushrooms and the pill bugs and the white rot that leaks from decaying branches. And then, rising from the stillness comes the owl’s great stutter. The sound hangs there, an entity
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