When I step out into the Flagstaff day and all around the sky of blue does shine only then I ask with dread and dismay which godforsaken Subaru is mine? The stickers slapped upon dusty old flanks display contrived originality. Nary do help the cruel distinction make these candy-colored testaments of glee. Ski racks, rust … More A Flagstaff Sonnet: This Is Not My Subaru
This is the space of spirits where you and I forge together not collide. Living becomes dead and dead is once more Alive. Water pools and pours over needy, broken shreds of glass turned sand turned boulder turned obstacle turned vantage point and we stand. All together at once we shift to the molten movement … More This Is The Space Of Spirits
I started writing today about supposed impermanence evidenced by frost noon-deleted and as I was dithering in three weeks of January gray convincing myself this too was fleeting my memory shifted to another segment of reality when I began this very same poem twice removed three months ago. Jumping from season to season is necessarily … More Seasonality
right now forever flows freely but only incrementally for exists a headwaters dam and where salmon should spawn instead suffocates healing breath. Mountains recede abdicating their peaks for knolls of simplicity and braid the streams ever-so-quietly as if a sandbar is all they can say right now. This is all they can give. Meanwhile the mainstream roils … More The River Drainage Of Despair
I’m excited to announce I won the 2016 Bell Prize from High Country News! My essay was published in the Nov. 14 issue, and you can read it online here. Wild spaces continue to be vitally important in our human development, and I hope they bring you joy and peace. Thank you for the support!
Desiccated air snatches raindrops before they meet ground. It’s not just hot here in the inferno of gold-fire sandstone, those stolid walls that hold the heat of eons. Copper ramparts twist to liquid illuminating and reflecting, daring you to describe water. Today it is titan rust, a metallic illusion of shadow we could endlessly follow. … More The Desert Moves Yes
Outdoor Research perfectly clapped back to GQ Magazine’s sexist portrayal of climbers with a photo essay. Never to leave all the fun to the rock slingers, some of the river ladies of OARS Idaho are here to show you why you unequivocally need ditch boots. Now you too can lift heavy things, gallivant in fall … More This Is 2016: A Ditch Boot Story
Late August on the Main Salmon punches the somewhat smoky air with bursts of laughter, sunshine, and — of course — splashes. By mid-afternoon, it’s warmed up just enough for me to invite a few playful bubbles to curl gracefully over the edge of my boat. A month ago, we were riding these same roller … More What, Really, Are Rapids For?
I follow the river through steep mountain slices warped like sparks in my soul but this time the river runs seemingly uphill and the gorges roll on unperturbed instead of obscuring their interior. I follow the river unsuspectingly until I find it, my spunky sense of youth where days of play stretch on and on … More I Follow The River
In the beginning I mostly prayed for the Transmilenio — the bright red behemoth bus — to arrive marginally on time. “One minute. Let it come in one minute.” And it always did. But later, once I learned the ebb and flow of non-existent schedules, and that the flashing letters listing “7 min” really meant … More In The Beginning