My camera slung like a bandolier, I head out to hunt the hawk, the broad-winged sling-shotting his solitary note over the woods, the one I saw yesterday perched high in a white pine. I imagine…

The moon not yet up, we forage in near darkness, out back in the woods, the wet spot to the north, where they grow in clumps, bunched like fists, and push their first wound heads through earth…

I On my way to the woods, I watch children on their backs in newly fallen snow, arms and legs moving side to side. Leaping to their feet, sparkling with crystal dust, they look down to find…

Arising before dawn in ritual pursuit aware of austerity, sharp, acute a chill that has settled and defines for a time the spoils of silently watching. As the hoary frost on crimson leaves…

I climbed the heavy miles of rock hot through the forest up to the gravel avenue through the krummholz, the heat now descending to cooled tundra paved with tiny wildflowers yellow and white…

what fun what fun what a fun time of year mossy boulder in the sun icicle dripping baby cows frolicking about green meadows as high snows collapse into the whitewater that flows to yellow…

AFTER THE STORM After the storm they venture out, she and the big black dog who breaks trail with broad chest cresting through virgin white. He pauses with lolling tongue and steaming breath…

Whose Mouth Do I Speak With? I can remember my father bringing home spruce gum. He worked in the woods and filled his pockets with golden chunks of pitch. For his children he provided this…