Fire

The plume rises before us.  White and billowy.  We watch from across the valley. Then walk back to our camp by the lake.  The beautiful alpine lake snug against steep cliffs – where remnants of snow cling to rocks on the far side.  It is the place we picked so as to monitor the fire’s…

Making Cider

There is the day your friend visits and finds the  trees  heavy with  fruit.  Ripe. Rotten almost.    The apples  riddled with worms.  You’ve  let them drop to the ground.   One after another.  Hoping a bear will come.  Or  deer.  To eat the apples. Your friend says, you know these will make great cider, right? …

Methow Valley

I heard you grieve little has been going your way in the hills and valley of where we stand in the wind on a ridge above a valley, deep into pine and oak, lupine and sunflower. Deep into the learning of creatures small or ungulate, like the ones grazing the meadow, below. Maybe you know these…