2/24 (2022) Silent the snowthis morning, like ashthe flakes sift down— & juncos pecking seedunder last summer’ssunflowers this strange cuneiform—tracks of sparrowsin the snow— like jets with swept backwings. I seem to glimpsethe eastern edge of...
4/8 (2019) fog—a feelingof the un-created—the soccer field floating goalless—the dark trees beyonddissolving the air, though—soft, a surface of birdsong buildings lostin a morning’s breath time fails to pass— just now it happened here— Genesis & all...
Grousin’ ’bout Grouse:Reflections on prairie and people The Midwest landscape is always changing, and we have long been a part of that. What is our role today? by Greg Hoch The pup is snoring under my desk as I write this from our home in east-central...
Melancholy Days The landscape changes with the seasons, but the missing doesn’t. by Kelly O’Dell Stanley In late fall, early winter, I see Dad all around me. Literally. I drive the fifteen minutes from home to the studio, watching the landscape gently undulate...
An Invitation to my Readers 7/7/21 Past the brimming cup plant& the golden coreopsis,purple hollyhocks & bee-balm with their mumblingbumblebees; past, at last,white foam of the hydrangeaswhere wrens hiss in the shadows,come to the sunflower door,my study....
Moments of Unimagined Beauty Orcas at sunset, the first shooting star of spring, a snowy owl on a bitterly cold winter morning—once these things were gifts from a power I cannot name, something bigger than me, than all of us. But how do I think about them now? Text...
