Madeleine L’Engle once borrowed this phrase for a story about time, light, and the battle between darkness and hope. I’ve borrowed it again because the title itself feels like a season—something on the move, as if the world were leaning toward winter. We speak that...
“And whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof.” — Genesis 2:19 We don’t always see, hear, or smell what others once did. Those who named plants, though, must have. They lingered long enough to catch the quiver, the sting, the fragrance....
With the seasons changing, I’m writing this in near-dark early one morning. My screen glows in my face—an otherworldly glow that illuminates my workspace. Out of habit, I unplugged my device right after I woke—we both should be fully charged. I’m awake and rested...
I took some family members hiking recently to see if we could locate Native American rock art in the foothills near town. A year earlier I’d dropped a pin in Google Maps after spotting a stray AllTrails post. Sure enough, after a steep ascent, we found it—petroglyphs...
In June and July, only the earliest risers catch the quietest hour. Pre-dawn. First light. Morning’s earliest names belong to those who trade sleep for stillness. A pink sky rises like a whispered promise—renewal, energy, the courage to start again. I spent the last...
This year, my area went ninety-six days without measurable precipitation. By now, we’d typically have around five inches. Instead, trails turned dusty, poufs of grit rising with each step, working into shoes and socks, coating shins and calves. Grass withered to...
