19 On a late summer evening, my friend Lisa and I walk in the old forest where she lives not far from my home. I admire the roots of trees clinging to the sides of a steep
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266 The sun speeds south on the western horizon. Autumn equinox is near. Twenty or more chrysalises in the Monarch nursery still need to fly south. The hummingbirds are already gone A female Monarch who eclosed last
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322 The Earth burns. Citizens are shot for no reason other than the color of their skin, and children are sent to unsafe schools and back home again. The pandemic is ignored or politicized and masks are
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204 I live in a rural sanctuary, but who can forget the pain of the world—the environmental, pandemic, and political threats, racism, families separated, and people dying alone? Who can forget that many won’t help others stay
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216 July 12, 1967 Dear Esel, After your bus left, I couldn’t face the apartment, so went to the cycle shop. Maybe mindless people could make me forget. No hope. I finally got the strength to sulk
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139 The bluebird boy uses his beak to carry bugs and caterpillars for his nestlings and haul away nestling excrement deposited in fecal sacs. He keeps a tidy nest. The female does all this and has a
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140 It’s my safe spot now. I don’t love the dark walnut wood, but I love memories of climbing in bed between my grandparents as a child. After grandpa died, Mom slept in this bed with Grandma
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Two little girls stand in an open field, close to each other but not touching. I’m the straight-haired girl with glasses, 7 years old, wearing a wool coat with plaid trim. The dark-skinned girl wears overalls with
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273 In the American Brahman Bookstore in Ithaca, NY in the late 1960s, a group drawn to the store and teacher learned meditation sitting on lumpy mismatched cushions. At home, Vic and I committed to sitting in
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236 I walk to my husband Vic’s cairn in the forest to honor his life and death. Along the way, I peek in the nesting boxes to see if the bluebird eggs have hatched. I pick lupines
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