My soul craves wildness.
Black caps from the thicket behind my cabin open themselves into my mouth. They flood the flavor of love and the smell of bark. Continue reading
My soul craves wildness.
Black caps from the thicket behind my cabin open themselves into my mouth. They flood the flavor of love and the smell of bark. Continue reading
“Spring” is the perfect word. That’s just what the forest floor does, popping may apples and wood violets from the formerly barren, leaf-strewn earth. We’ve had a few cold snaps, windy days, and even some snow (which is to be expected in Wisconsin in April), but now that May has arrived, it appears that Spring is here to stay. Nevertheless, old-timers will tell you not to count on it until May has ended, for a check of old weather reports says the last frost isn’t until the end of this month.
Regardless of the risk–or even because of it–plants surge up towards the ample sunlight, gathering nourishment from the earth and sky, readying themselves for the frosts, heat, insects, and foraging humans that will come their way, hoping (I imagine) to live long enough to be pollinated and produce offspring. Continue reading
Raw umber. This is the color of the spring that bubbles up between a hunting stand and a zillion wild milkweed plants. The field lies below the ridge I grew up on, and it is the place I forged a spiritual connection with nature, staring into the depths of this spontaneous, life-giving flow. Continue reading