Tag: Nature

Fall’s Reach

Catching fall in the act. More Images here. Advertisements

Leaf Finder General

She rakes leaves as if she’s in a battle with fall With those pranksters of maple, oak, alder, and all Who best be off elsewhere, staying clear from her home Or sticking fast by autumn’s mist to the garden gnome Better not sneak under…

Early Exit

Some leaves make an early exit.                                                       They wait for rain. More photos here.    

Back Burner

Click on image to enlarge.  The last little glimpse of a bull kelp.  Check out more images here.

Ghost Story For The Wilderness Impaired

She’s a ghost. I know that. She brushes her fingers along my shoulders and I will look up to find her playing among the trees, pretending to be the wind. She’ll drop a pinecone or a small branch as a reminder. Then, off she…

Ghost Fence

Ghost Fence (Click to enlarge image) Check the gallery out here.  

The View

If I hike alone, I can only tell you what you missed. If we hike together, we’ll see the view.   Here, the wind whips beachgrass, stinging our legs through cotton jeans, a grass that rattles its voice, a scolding, chaotic rustle. Our bare…

Moon Jelly

A Last day of blue. Found on Clatsop Spit, August 2018   (Click on image to enlarge it and check out more of Elan’s photos here.)    

Ramona Falls’ Mist

Ramona’s whisper requites us to ourselves—our fires extinguished, our thirst sated. That voice, a pact between mountain and moisture, is a quiet call to us The stumbling pilgrims, forest wanderers, wishful sages who suffer from acute chatter. Its language—slow—near wordless, near nothing, paints upon…

Looking Glass

Little Crater Lake, July 2018 A double blue reflection. The cobalt of the lake with its graveyard of dead trees lying on the bottom. One recent death half-floats in purgatory. And the deep blue of the sky, foregrounded by a living green forest. Both…

Sand Fire

Where the Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean Clatsop Spit, Oregon, August 2018    

Romancing The Drought

The mountain, hip bone of earth, shoots down a dry, hot wind  Rattles the skeleton city, held together by a series of pins and plastic cartilage.   We hang refrigerators, like art, In our bedroom windows  Who rattle clumsy tunes, instrumentals, transposing the fever…

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