Behind a curtain of spruce angling upward, the silent mountain rides the late spring sky. From our vantage atop another mountain, Bald Peak, more a long ridge rising steeply from the vineyards and farms of the Oregon countryside, the stately volcano beckons more ancient longings. The gods rest, but they shall again return to a restless effusion that this wall of trees may one day witness. ♨
Even though it is a national park with all of the complicated and historically shifting meanings associated with parks, Yellowstone is also (simultaneously) many other places as well.
The Hoh Rain Forest waits as a patient guide, a moss-embroidered forest of wisdom, lined with ferns and storied over with trees older than memory.
Review of “The Healing Power of the Santuario de Chimayó: America’s Miraculous Church” by Brett Hendrickson.
The sea lion ambled into view as I leaned over the railing of the Balboa Pier in Newport Beach, California. Was she performing for the excited audience on the pier above? Or did we see ballet through our anthropomorphizing gaze? ♨
The moon had my soul as I stepped through the gate into the schoolyard. I listened hard for the sweaty shouts of teammates running ghost-like on the lined fields of memory. Echoes of their gameful cries disperse to memory. My gaze fixes now on an orange line of thin clouds lingering across the pale sky of coming day. ♨