There is a certain cataclysmic beauty in every moment,
a certain dream-like way we have of propelling ourselves about.

Two heavy glass doors of the bank each bearing the word push,

Perched on the deck
of a rented cabin
overlooking the skykomish
as it makes its tireless and
endless journey to the sea,
we embrace the presence’s passing moments
with our senses attuned to nature’s disposition.

Mount Index looms nearby,
as clouds compete for its
affectionate embrace, yet
it remains elusive.

Pair of beavers demonstrate their
well-earned industry as they

There was a time
not long ago
before the onslaught of
tireless acquisition
when the oceans were
filled with the living and
death did not run rampant.

There was a time
not long ago
when sticky strands of
black death and
balls of tar
did not foul the
beaches and marshes,
places of birth and renewal.

There was a time
not long ago
when the birds that feasted