This week is our last week in Idaho. Corinne is at the cave cabin tonight, to think in the fire-warmed dark and have epiphanies about her path in life, while the stars wink on over the salmon river and the goats, once tamed for milk and now gone wild again, bed down in the clumps … Continue reading the sun and time
joy
d e e p t h o u g h t s i n b e a u t i f u l i d a h o
Rural Idaho is big, rural idaho is lonely. Being in rural idaho with one other person does not keep the loneliness away- it holds it back, for hours at a time, the way a campfire holds back the dark- but then, walking in the mountains, the feeling returns- and it is not even loneliness, really, … Continue reading d e e p t h o u g h t s i n b e a u t i f u l i d a h o
the most generous person in the world, loggers who blog, and our ragtag bag of orphans
Today is the last day of my antibiotics. This week has been a whirlwind of nausea, weakness, fatigue, and socializing. Tomorrow it is all over, my colon is now a dead zone, and I promise never, ever to swallow lakewater while swimming, ever again. But! This weekend the most generous person in the world had … Continue reading the most generous person in the world, loggers who blog, and our ragtag bag of orphans
taking you for granted
it is your hands that I worry about the most. They are so quiet, resting there at the ends of your arms. But if you look they are fantastically beautiful- the shape your fingers make, together, is almost perfectly square, and your skin is so light, and covered in so many small brown spots- freckles. … Continue reading taking you for granted
at this late hour
I am awake. Is it because I am a hedonist? Is it because I am in love? Is it because I want to live forever? Is it because I have become addicted, in the last 48 hours, to facebook scrabble? No, my love has gone to bed on her turn, stuffed up with a headcold. … Continue reading at this late hour
Today
I met T-brid at the co-op in southeast. I ate a chocolate-covered pecan from the bulk bins, an energy nug, and an anemic gluten-free cookie that had unpleasant, uncooked millet in it, and which attempted to fly on the strength of its dried cherries alone. We walked to T-brid’s shack. She carried a chainsaw in … Continue reading Today
are you out there?
Dear reader, did you know that I can reverse-spy on you? I have a statcounter and sometimes I look at it, and it tells me what city you’re in, and that makes my head spin, because you’re from so many different places, places I have never been- little towns in the desert and along both … Continue reading are you out there?
Dispatches from the night-time
It’s so late, and yet here I am. It’s cold in Portland, cold, cold, cold. Not Alaska cold, but cold for here, and clear, and all the stars are stuck frozen like glass slivers in the dim lid of the sky, the night sky that’s all milky and faded from light pollution and the particulates … Continue reading Dispatches from the night-time
everything
I sleep with the windows open and it’s cold now, as wintry as Portland will get. In the mornings I come up as if from the bottom of a deep hot pit and the cold air bites the tip of my nose where it sticks out from my ten hundred blankets and my sleeping bag, … Continue reading everything
Your eyes are like the ocean
Do they make their own light? I think they are like the sunset, backlit. I look at them and I can see tomorrow, somehow, I can see everything that could ever be. I look at them and somewhere, a man guides a skiff up a river, the wind blows, leaves scatter. It’s quiet, and restless, … Continue reading Your eyes are like the ocean
CARROT QUINN 
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