It is fall, I guess, and none of the leaves are turning color. That's not true. The western sycamores in Big Sur are. The coast live oak whose leaves perpetually carpet camp's trails. The lone sugar maple in Yosemite whose blood heart leaves people drive three, four hours just to see, just to witness. I …
nothing ever ends as you think it will
If I'm a slut for anything, it's closure. I will do backbends, somersaults, aerial pirouettes (unsure if that's a thing) to ensure I get the ending that feels right. I want the memories gift wrapped and then safely shelved away, everything neat and easily retrievable. I want resolution like a knife sliding effortlessly through a …
days the color of a monkeyface eel
A week and a half ago we asked our boss if we could purchase 1,000 carrion beetles. My coworker had found a monkeyface prickleback carcass and was interested in harvesting the delicate bones. Obviously, beetles were the way to go. That was a week and a half ago, but it feels like a different epoch. …
perfect moments
one It is early in the season and my night walks have not yet become habitual. This is the first time on one of those walks that I am not alone. We are walking and the fog is rolling in, covering the stars slowly like a blanket being pulled over bed sheets. It feels like …
People in Parks 