The power of the valley never dies.

I have a story to tell, and, like a birth in the middle of the night, there are no words for it.

mapping the valley

Can we put down for a moment everything but our own naked grief, feel it all the way to the bottom, and find there what it asks of us?

seeds are moments of invention on the wind

A letter from somewhere near Paradise, 2018.

… the starlight, the wind, and the sea pour through us …

it winds and weaves, I am never unbound

Perhaps it is not grief that weakens us, but all we do to avoid it.

It always is / and it is never

at dawn / still awake