Observations

Write to Live: A Log on Primeval Trail

Hurtling logs is a semiotic act, for me. I jumped over logs in the thinner forests of spring, pretending I wore T'Challa's skin instead of my own and pacing my heart with drum-music. Summer and new strategies ushered a new cycle of activity, a new trail to run and the bodily impetus to rise earlier… Continue reading Write to Live: A Log on Primeval Trail

Narrative, Observations, People, Reflection

Whale Guts on Monday

I hurtled a fallen tree trunk. Last I passed that way, I only vaulted the trunk but the crispness of the morning lashed at the feelings I was trying to tread-- I wanted to leap. Whatever internal obstacles I milled on the loop of trail beyond escapes my memory, and I imagine myself hurtling the… Continue reading Whale Guts on Monday