We live at the base of So-Bahli- Ahli. Lofty lady. It’s the name local tribes gave the mountain that presides over the living here in our far-flung corner of the Pacific Northwest. The valley of the Stillaguamish. This was before the settlers came and the farmer that lost his horse. The mountain that was once…
Category: creative nonfiction
Swan
We debate what kind. Trumpeter or Tundra? Juvenile? Why alone here with the mergansers and mallards? We notice the shape of the beak. The nudge of orange. The grey rolling down the narrow neck and onto her back. Like dirty snow. Or clouded sky. The wonderous wings unfurl and spread every now and again. I…
God is Here
When I last travelled the desert, I passed this one empty house. It was along a flat stretch of highway. A straight away nearly twelve miles long. Springtime was busting out – the desert filling with promise. Green spotted the hills and I could see dots of little yellow flowers. And rain. Rain was loving…
