this post originally appeared April 30, 2021 First snowmelt, and a month of dry, but the rain finally comes, and everything is flowers, for a time. Categorized in: Miscellaneous
Sarah’s Art
The smoke startedwhile I was in the air.I first saw it,after my plane landed,as a video on my phone—a gold and gray billowjust two miles into the mountainsfrom the green propertywhere we lived.“Oh good, you’re home.You can help protect the housefrom the new wildfire,”my landlord texted, joking,but only half.
The anniversary week of George Floyd’s murder is a good time to revisit this post, which first appeared June 10, 2020. We still have so far to go, in the United States.
First snowmelt, and a month of dry, but the rain finally comes, and everything is flowers, for a time.
Sometimesin the springout walkingI get the feelthat the earth itself is speaking,that it has its own language,written in ice