the sky, thickly veiled in white smoke, gradually darkened. i paced the house, obsessively looking out the window as the wind picked up,...

one evening, while washing dishes, i looked out the window. the setting sun, illuminating the hills across the street, brushed soft light...

nights come early now, darkness settling in even before we sit down to dinner. the snow melts; the last aspen leaves rattle and flutter...

i’ve heard it said that winter is never far away in the north country. you can feel its presence just beyond the mountain; hovering,...

and just like that, two more seasons have come and gone. the sweet summer, sunlit and green; the fall, golden and resplendent. the...

the morning dawns under cover, accompanied by a steady drumbeat of rain. a low ceiling, not quite grey and not quite white. throughout...

the neighbor mows his lawn and the air smells sweet; later, spicy as rain releases the balm of creekside cottonwoods. thunder rumbles...

Winter rain, now tell me why, Summers fade, and roses die. The answer came; the wind and rain. Golden hills, now veiled in grey, Summer...

waking up this sunday morning; a sunday morning, in some ways, like every one that has come before. outside a silver disc of sun presses...

the last days of february bring with them an ennui, a longing. a yen for color and life and warmth. elsewhere in the country, signs of...

driving over ice-glazed roads under a sky quilted white, seams stitched with blue. contemplating the state of the world, which, perhaps,...

ensconced inside walls of glass and wood, a human-scale snow globe, the world outside awash in white. flakes falling steadily: sometimes...

and january is gone, just like that, sliding into the shortest month of the year. february, to me, will always be the...

black rollers, waves tumbling in; poised to unleash onto the low-lying hills. two dozen birds, inky silhouettes burst from a tree and...

There were days And there were days And there were days I know When all we ever wanted Was to learn and love and grow — The Grateful...

Easter morning clouds swirl low over the mountains, encircling peaks in wreathing mist, tumbling down to the valley floor. The air heavy...

The winter was so hard and cold, Froze ten feet ’neath the ground. — Grateful Dead, “Dire Wolf” The winter: Cold and long, even by north...

My experience of late, and that of many others with whom I’ve talked, is one of time hurtling forward. Faster and faster. Dizzying and...

We prepared three weeks for this moment. We learned the art of orienteering–navigating with topographic maps and compasses–to find our...

Bow your head down When you break bread together; Close your eyes, Make a circle of hands. — Jeffrey Foucault, Dishes Early morning sun...