• The Memory of Stones

    Imagine what the stones could tell if we could learn their tongue.

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  • Middling

    There’s no knowing quite how I got here, or where “here” really is. Where I am is out of sight from where I thought I’d be. All the zigs I could have zagged are too countless to enumerate. The miles and years between then and now are laden with could’ve-beens and should’ve-dones.

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  • Loch Maree, the Wrong Way Round

    On the far-flung banks of Loch Maree, in Scotland’s rugged north, I struggled through a wild land where even the goat paths dwindled out. “If there’s a trail around the loch,” I thought to myself, “surely this isn’t it.”

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  • …But Not Just Yet

    Today had just begun to wane, tonight not far behind; I gave the still and tired house my absence for a time.

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  • Lemon Turd

    Ya’ll, something possessed me to try making lemon curd.

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