Old Growth

The wind through the firs sounds like the distant thundering South Pacific from our island home, yet similarities end there, ruddy nose running from unaccustomed chill and fingers reluctant to part from pockets; It has been years since I rooted feet in forest soil,...

Day Sail

Wavelets snap and turn in the sunlight, deceiving eyes into believing there are creatures emerging from the depths; Strands of kelp curve and twist like the wake of a ship, glinting just enough to hint at sea otters frolicking in welcome brilliance; Markers the novice...