I was pushed out of my mother’s body one April, cold and wet, in the fifth season of the year. A measure of frost and mud. It was past the last sap boil, more amber than gold. I was a…

for Rick (1956–2022) The pine log screams as he pushes it through the saw. A portable mill because he likes to work outdoors, leaning in to northern summer sun, or weighed down with wool…

Two miles down the trail that’s still drunk from coal dust though the rails screamed their way to scrap half a century since, we quit walking calm, start skewing wild as if those old…

Outside my window sits a grand old maple that I have grown to favor, not because it’s mine, but rather, I belong to it—despite our separate homes in nature. I see how it bears the…

Your morning legs slip over the side of the bed easy and feel like cool green shoots, spring bitter. You taste the innocence—one that revisits you late in life after all the swimming,…

The path I made in the snow three days ago had been used. A neighbor? I mused. Several of them, it turns out. Toe-tipped deer, their hooves leaving unmistakable marks. My path on the tote road…

For now, this girdled hourglass preserves Tree’s vertical: a monument to gnawing doubts, camel straws, tipping points and indecision by a certain whittling Beaver. After all, beneath…

The other night, frogs crossed roads in the rain, emerged from muddy dark & wet into more of it, following water down to where it seeps & holds— the pools that won’t stay…

This neighborhood fox is working his route down the broad convergence between night and morning light down the wellspring valley through the little swamp and up across the neighbors’…