During a trip on the Main Salmon in Idaho, my friend Prester and I did some collaborative art. He watercolored the view from our camp, and I added text. Enjoy!  We hugged the bend today of crooked rocks and rain-dream skies, letting sand envelop our uncertainty. Contortions are not just for the river as knotty pines … More Contortions


While floating on the Main Salmon River between Jim Moore Place and Bucksin Bill’s, I wrote this poem slowly in my head, waiting for the river and landscape to whisper to me.  The validity of river is only a question of time and time has nothing but river to soothe its wily mind. Sticks and … More Validity


I’ve been quiet for the past month, scribbling lines of ink as I chase wilderness and water. Over the next week, I’ll be sharing thoughts and poems inspired by the rocky rivers of Idaho.  If God is a God of truth, she is a mountain. And if God is a God of peace, she is … More Holy 


Fire skies rumble as legions of angry clouds fill their bulbous brims with crimson screams empty of rain. The dryness crackles through the air so indifferent it doesn’t even pause to consider the green lung of the earth where trees are more than wisps and do more than dream of moisture, moisture that doesn’t proselytize … More Here

Water Come Down

Out of the corner of my eye on a windy desert drive I glimpsed a steady stream of water come down. While the resilient seep trickled I felt a parallel ghost stream embrace the grooves of my cheek. It spoke of hope, of glory, of pain, of spring promises and it polished that black-orange-red-too-many-colors-to-count desert … More Water Come Down

Desert Quiet

The high desert is quiet minus the beat of your lungs and the gasp of your heart and that undeniable eardrum pounding punctuated by the throaty gulp of a raven call. The high desert is quiet as it must be, here in the vestige of winter biding its time. This is the quiet of wait … More Desert Quiet