the day before snow

A devil’s club graveyard all that remains, bones of a mighty clubbed fortress reduced to small brown skeletons, silent, still scaffolds of what once was. This is how you say madrugada in English– the coldest, darkest, undead hour when spirits roam the earth, right before the first snow:  the rainforest so dry and quiet bones and shapes, negative space,…

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Traveling with Fairy

Because she is of the wilderness, why shouldn’t the rhythm of a thousand hustling feet induce her to run through TSA? Because when riding an escalator, why shouldn’t she wait for the prettiest step, although it may mean losing Mommy who has alteady gone ahead and landing spread eagle upside down between five metal moving…

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Growing Gardens in the Mind

Welcome to the Prose Garden, where we grow hope and inspiration, fresh perspectives, with a good watering of beautiful contradictions and terrible word plays. Here we explore the entropy of parenting and life in Southeast Alaska, peppered with true tales of venturing off the beaten path, crossing borders real and invisible, and living beyond the imaginable.

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What the Rastafari Taught Me About Gratitude

With Thanksgiving approaching, I remember how the Rastafari taught me to give thanks.

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Last Breath

El que niega la muerte, niega la vida.  (He who denies death, denies life.) — Octavio Paz Yesterday the last leaf fell from our maple tree as my grandmother succumbed to a long sleep. She is between worlds now, purring like a kitty cat. Fall catches us in a bed of vermillion and rust to…

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Night Visitor

Wind’s hands reachwith fingers of amber leaves,grasping for the deer thatdisappears into the night When does a deer become a pet? When you start to feed him apples? When he comes around regularly enough to earn a name? It’s deer-hunting season, so I’m surprised he still comes back. “He looks tasty.” My husband licks his lips.…

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