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The Memory of Stones
Read more: The Memory of StonesImagine what the stones could tell if we could learn their tongue.
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Middling
Read more: MiddlingThere’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
Read more: Loch Maree, the Wrong Way RoundOn 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
Read more: …But Not Just YetToday 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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