Photo by Kakoli Dey / Shutterstock.com There was a man dwelt by a churchyard. His wife was the enormous yew tree that shielded him from all. His children came by as autumn leaves, or as some say, they were the cattle that died grazing upon the yew. Sometimes the man...
My parents were into birding. When they came to Arizona to visit me, we would always stop at the Gilbert Riparian Preserve to see what birds were there. I fell in love with the place, so went there on my own too. People fish in the front pond. Unfortunately, they can...
Photo: KMarsh / Shutterstock.com You named me after three tombstones in Laurel Hill Cemetery. Your freckled hand on your swollen belly, your light gray eyes scanning the marble and granite slabs. You were running out of time. You said it was the touch of cinnamon in...
Photo: Carlos de Paz from A Coruña, España, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons He had crossed A Quintana dos Mortos for the same place and at the same time for years, and yet he had never seen that woman before: dressed in white light she was sensually laid down on...
It’s that time of year when the eucalyptus trees peel their bark like wet swimsuits and let them slap onto the ground, as if they could step out of the soggy pile and kick it to the side. They bare their long trunks, poised on the precipice over New Brighton beach...
It’s a bright July day. We’re driving back from Rosemarkie Beach when you ask, ‘Have you ever seen a clootie well?’ I’m certain you know I haven’t. I’m a Londoner who grew up in the wide spaces of the American Midwest. You’re an English ecologist inhabiting the...
