My Mother (the Skunk Cabbage.)

To every wild feminine spirit in love with the words and the woods: Happy Mother’s Day. Through our gifts of transcending and caring and loving, we are all of us mothers. “A good mother grows into a richly eutrophic old woman, knowing that her work doesn’t end until she creates a home where all of …

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Moon, moon, moon

Here is an image I love: Nonna’s kitchen with the lights off, baby at the window in her grandmother’s arms. Two heads dear to me turned away, looking up and out at a clear night sky. Guarda la luna! exclaims Nonna. Mon! squeals her laughing grandbaby. Then again in our home: my husband heaves our …

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The lightness of being (on a Genova beach)

Pen, be my heart: for these two wave-thundering fingers of golden-blue before that sun hits these rocks--in Genova, friend and lover, a city where nothing is not wild. Genova, where all ties and times and turns itself to the sea, and thus to the moon, that pulling, reflecting body... I am here on the spiaggia …

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Wild New York: Discoveries for the New Year

Hello reader, page, screen, blog, new year. Hello, wintery intermezzo, and hello longer nights, hours spent indoors, learning and storing, contemplating. Hello bookshelf, and hello resolution… I resolved this winter to further a blossoming interest in my home ground, in the water and soil that surrounds. This attention to New York’s wildness and natural history …

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Winter is here

I write on borrowed time, perfect time, while the baby sleeps her one mega-nap of the day. A wintry somnolence has come over her and all of us, and while she hibernates I write, and I wonder … what goes on in the mind, in the belly of the almost-sleeping bear? And in my daughter? …

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A smidgen of pigeon/Cravin’ the raven

It was cold, by heat-islander standards, and my mind was spinning: thoughts about home, about where I wanted to be and what I wanted to be doing, frustrations and celebrations. We were three days into our Yellowstone trip and I had snuck out early for a run: through the hallway, down the steps of the …

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Home

  This is a coming home story, a falling back into the arms, branches, stems, rhizomes, howls, eddies, bugles, wingbeats, and subterranean gurgles of my Yellowstone, the place and consciousness that taught me how to love. We had come back to the ecosystem for the wedding of two friends, a couple whose relationship, like ours, …

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