If I wrote a love story, how would it begin? Long ago, when my world was full of chaos and I longed for peace and security, I opened a book and fell headlong into it. The noise around me subsided; questions and worries fell away. The world in which I carried so much responsibility and […]Read more "A Love Story"
The sun sets today in eleven minutes. The sky is overcast, and even on this more temperate day — for last week was bitterly and unseasonably cold — it is cold outside, and November dark. A month ago, hiking in the Fertile Sand Hills, I could not imagine this day. In mid-October the trees were […]Read more "Another Year Is Gone"
It is the end of October. In one short month, autumn has peaked and closed. The mornings are dark and cold. The evenings are short and shorter ushering in the long winter nights to come. I have located my snowboots and showshoes, my hats and mittens, my scarves and heavy pants. I have inspected my […]Read more "The Universe Is a Procession"
I drove to Rydell National Wildlife Refuge early Saturday morning. The sky was overcast, the air was cool and heavy with moisture. Rain drops pelted my windshield periodically, testing, I think, a forecast that promised sunny skies after recent heavy rains. I drove on, challenging the sky to change my plans, which it didn’t. Soon […]Read more "Let Me Go"
Lately I sometimes think I am done writing. Days and weeks pass, and I find I have nothing to say. I ask myself, “How can this be? I read. I write journal entries. I compose letters. I venture outdoors. I photograph.” In spite of the stimulus, I find I think and hear nothing new. My […]Read more "Journeys Without End"
Life bores deep holes in us in hopes the nature of what we are might sink into us…. —Jim Harrison There is a truth found in running long miles each morning. There is a realization that comes at the end of the first-half of the run that however tired, however hard the wind blows, however hot […]Read more "The Nature of What We Are"
I looked for growing grass, and I found new blades growing from a fallen cottonwood trunk. Blades of Grass on Fallen Cottonwood Trunk I took a walk looking for signs of spring and heard a meadowlark singing, singing from a wire high above the earth. In the underbrush, I followed a […]Read more "Height of Grass: Spring in NW Minnesota"
It’s a misty, overcast morning. The air is primed for rain. The sweet corn calls from the garden. It’s time — perhaps past time — to pick and process it for winter storage. The summer winds to a close on these last days of August. In northwestern Minnesota summer announces its exit without equivocation. The […]Read more "My Question"
I have thought much since January how life is tentative. I have known abstractly the brevity of life – how war extinguishes breath, the soldier and civilian’s; how famine weakens and illness encroaches; how epidemics — smallpox, tuberculosis, yellow fever, and cholera —sweep aside generations in their path. Polio was the childhood fear of my mother. […]Read more "I Walk"