Vibrations from Women Who Run With The Wolves

This week I am finishing an unassuming black book, a wild little thing that's ridden around with me for months and flavored my writings here before. Finishing it feels monumental---these days finishing anything feels monumental---yet I know I will come back to it often, as we do, we women who seek to stir and touch our …

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AviFauna: Wild Soul in Art

Tell me, how is your wild soul doing? What I mean by that is this: where do you find your wildness when you cannot get out into the big outdoors wild? Are you in touch with your wild within? Our experience of, and with, the natural wild can be dammed up for so many reasons: …

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On Sky

What is the sky to you? A canvas? A foil? An inspiration? An aspiration? A point of inquiry? When my family moved into our current apartment we gained so much sky: more height, more windows, more light. Throughout the fall, then winter and spring, on days we didn't go out or went out little, I've …

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Wild New York

I’m southbound, riding window-seat in a steel-bodied Amtrak carriage past what is, more or less, my home topography. Do I know it? Ponds never mirror life so perfectly as at daybreak: blackwater and hardwoods under a snow blanket. My travel companions, mother and aunt, pass the time chatting about people they know, and I don’t. …

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An Ecology of Love

“Being in the world is primarily an erotic encounter, an encounter of meaning through contact, an encounter of being oneself through the significance of others---humans, lovers, children, but also other beings, companions and competitors.” -Andreas Weber, Matter and Desire: An Erotic Ecology   I was once asked to write an “autobiography of place.” A glorious …

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Wave Hill in Winter

"I believe we have the noblest roaring blasts here I have ever known on land; they sing their hoarse song through the big tree-tops with a splendid energy that thrills me and stirs me and uplifts me and makes me want to live always. " -Mark Twain, words penned during his 1901-1903 stay at Wave …

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Wonderlist

January in Riverdale. The world of our street feels crisp, white, new. It's hard work getting the baby outside, snowsuit and stroller and all, but most days we do it anyway, aiming to enjoy the natural world in all seasons, in all its crevices. There's color out there against the snow: winter berries, sumac drupes, …

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