By now I’ve seen it all, the weird translucent yellow spider hauling her pale pearl of eggs, or the spores of the reddish fungus fuming out from its half-inch smokestack
Below the ridges, dim and low, the hollows and narrow valleys run, and pools of water prove a stream has been there once. Standing before a pool like these, painted with leaves dropped from the trees, I now believe a mind conceived this place and thought, it must be sunken…
People of sensibility like to admire a painting or some possession, but a different mind will linger over the bluish feather sticking out of the shot glass someone set on the windowsill
There’s a place near here called Chicken Bristle. It’s not a very hopeful name, but it’s out in the country and quiet. A handful of houses are clustered along a lane. The land is rolling and secret and dark.
I don’t know what to think, standing at the bottom of the hill in the woods. The bare trees reach up. The hill is to my right and on the left begins another, steeper hill.
Summer brags outside the tall windows Inside, the air chatters winter Our workshop assignment: Describe something lost Into this season of sun and longest days I write about tomatoes Planting them in my journal of absences Alongside whippoorwill and gypsy breeze
for Amanda The dry vine from a kind of weed whose yield is pods is being flung out senselessly by the wind, and a scrap of the vine at that, the part still curled around the cedar branch
moonlight on leaves like snow and chime of owl from this hollow’s heart under a rib of Humpback Mountain a late-autumn wind broke its teeth against these rocks
It has been experienced many times that mountain people live where they do because that is where and how they prefer to live. —A History of the Daniel Boone National Forest 1770-1970, U.S. Forest Service Somewhere along the way to being must also be belonging, because being is not an…
I’ve got a banjo six feet long and a red-handled Barlow knife, so I’ve got the credentials, Mister, to do the things I do. It takes a lot of ﬁguring and time to do it. The barn is just an empty church, a solemn spirit is inside it. Something was…