Methow Valley

I heard you grieve little has been going your way. In the hills and valley of where we are or not. I stand in the wind on a ridge above the valley deep into pine and oak, lupine and sunflower. Into the learning of creatures small or ungulate like the ones below grazing the meadow. Maybe…

Jellyfish

“Do it again,”  the kids yell.  They crowd around as my husband leans over the side of the dock and traces his hand through the water.  Flashes of green spark in the water.  We all bend toward the water and splash our fingers, making trails of color in the dark. “Bioluminescence,” my husband says and…

Over the Hills

She resolved not to cry. Not then. Not  ever. No matter what he did. He could be mean as he wanted, smash everything into a million little pieces. “Mustangs are not orange,”  her sister said, wagging her finger at her.  It was that blank time between Christmas and New Years and they were on their…