Raindrops like slow motion, dripping into Watson River. Ripples dissolving; all together becoming waves folding over the sandy shore like sleepy morning smiles, over and over. May these nuances of nature keep me tender for all of my days.
I know that I will find a way to adapt–whether that turns out to be thriving in this lifestyle, or not being able to, I won’t know until I try. … More Dry Cabin Journey No.1
On the south facing slope dry, warm dust of clay cliffs.Fuzzy crocuses.Some sleepy, some stretchinghigh, to the sun lit sky.Blades of grass,pushing green,growing.Bright leaves, slowly unfolding like arms, like art,swirling vein patterns,demanding nothing, but gaining all of myattention. Walk slow,through these forests.Stop, often.Bend to touch.Feel the moss, the lichens,No longer brittle but, still firm, still … More Old Pines
I am home inthese curves; intoxicated.tongue tied. My eyes follow their arching bodies up and up ,their gorgeous frames making my heart raceuntil I reach the tops, only to plunge downward , over and over until my eyeswet from all the wonder. These mountains.
The brilliant violet crocuses dotted the mountain side, their petals open like eager arms deep-stretching after this long, cold Whitehorse winter. Their yellow insides as bright as the sun itself. Spring, I thought, is finally here. Goddess in hell, was I wrong… … More The Tors, At the Mercy of the Mountains
At last, I could see the blue gleaming gash in the earth ahead. When we arrived, Aziza collapsed in tears, the wind was even more concentrated, bellowing through the Ice Cave. We were all alone up here… … More Kluane Ice Cave