We were the first vehicle at the trailhead that morning. Snow was falling, not sideways or dramatic, just steady and confident. South Fork Canyon sat in that narrow winter window where the temperature hovers just above indecision: cold enough for clean flakes, warm...
I’ve read too much about sleep lately. And I’m working on it—which seems oxymoronic. Shouldn’t I just be mostly unaware for seven or eight hours? Like so many modern fixations, we assume that if we study something long enough, we can get a handle on it—even when it’s...
In storytelling, a throughline is the line of force that carries a narrative forward. It’s the path a story naturally wants to take—the most direct route from premise to resolution. When it’s sound, everything else can hang from it. When it’s unexamined, the story...
The other day, I drove up the canyon to “check if it’s still there,” or so I told my daughter on the phone as I accelerated. I didn’t have a question in mind as I drove. There’s always something waiting at home—unfinished work, loose worries—and lately there’s even...
I first learned to read the clock in abouts. Half past. Quarter till. Top of the hour. About nine o’clock. Before atomic time and the internet, even the first digital watches got ahead of or trailed exact time. You adjusted them by feel. A minute fast. A little slow....
I had just flipped a U-turn at the top of South Fork Canyon and started heading back down when I saw it—first only a lazy V of a large, dark bird gliding above the road. Its slow, effortless steadiness convinced me it was a raptor. I watched it, curious, until it...
