the river is a mirror

what does not flow away
past the canyon ramparts
sets down roots
or scurries between boulders in the waters deep
scouring stone in wake and in sleep

I stand on the bank to bear witness
to all that remains
to all that changes beneath the bright cut of the meadowlark’s song
as he whittles winter with his tune
turning ice to gold

these clouds are gizmos
whirring towards the East
chasing the past as the sun slips
into the hot chrome of the sea
somewhere else

the shore is edged with newness
the grass
so sudden to turn bright
rattles like rapiers in the breeze
and lower down
in the mist of the rapids
new growth branches
like antler fronds
born only to eat the sun before

am I born the same
to consume this light
to lean into the wind
to divide
and split
so as to catch the sun and feel
God on every surface
to not turn away but to reach deeper
into the sky



Horizon Of Now


I am holding a bird
its eyes dim
where it lays in my hands
still warm
its feathers are the armor
that could not resist my hunger

I lift my gaze
the horizon is now
a rumple and tilt of
grass in the gloaming
my cold
carry me towards the thing that changes with each step I take
my dog
still eager
at my heels
sharp nosed and

I think I understand
the overlap
between then and now
and here
as I cross basalt rubble
rising over rugged stone against the wind
like knives
and the cruelty of time
lifting as the birds breast did
against the sun
and my fingertips

(the bird
the bird still warm
on my back
where I carry it close
as the night comes on)

I walk faster
to defeat the tension in my bones
my skin taut in the breeze
my eyes streaming
each step renewing
the horizon of now
that falls as far away
as ever

I actually came up with this design last winter during uplanding season.  Robbie and I spent so much time out on the land together and I remember being obsessed with the way the land rises up in rippling humps of stone and grass, fading into the distance as it reaches out wider and wider against the glare of the sun, and the way that same growing and shrinking and fading was echoed in the feathers of the birds we hunted behind our dogs and shot for our dinner table and echoed again in the long spines of deer and elk, killed by winter, that I continuously found out there amidst the sage and bitter brush.

This necklace seems minimal in design but it represents something so complex and wild and steady…something I get to be a part of when I hunt and walk the land in Idaho.

Oh, I don’t know.
Heck if I can tell you what it’s really all about.
When you look at it, your eyes either embrace the texture and form and find it beautiful, or they don’t. I took the form, the crescendo and decrescendo of it, directly from nature, from the land, from my genuine life moments, from the birds that fed me, from the white bones of the winter kills stark against black rock, from the rhythms of a simple, wild life.

It is SO beautiful on. Elegant. Fierce. Otherworldly. It wears like a small shield against the chest — like feathered vertebra for all the world to witness. Gorgeous. 100% sterling silver on a beautiful chain. Satin finished and lightly burnished.

This is a piece of light.

Find it in the shop today at 4PM, PST…with 37 other bits and pieces of my journey.

Better The Air


pure darkness

all stars

winds raking sage into piles of shattered silver

roots crying out to deep

oh the black and bones of these mountains


coyotes weep at the moon

clinging to the hillsides with tongues and claws


straight as arrows

yipping the planet into spin


i am in the high country

my forehead pressed against the dome of the sky

sipping at the milky way with thirsty lips

grinding stars between

my teeth


i cannot feel my hands

this cold air is too bitter

better the air than my young heart



[poetry excerpt from my full length poem Vox]

Tonight is  the Visions of Verse show opening at the Confluence Gallery in Twisp, Washington — our summer home.  I am represented as a poet and an artist in this collaborative show which is a huge honor as the local talent in the Methow Valley is off the chart incredible!!!  That’s not false flattery either.  The Valley has a rich and diverse art community.  It’s a little mind blowing at times.

This piece is hanging in the show and was my response to a poem by another poet:

[The Mountains We Are Made Of Neckpiece :: copper, sterling silver, Oregon beach stone and Snake River of Idaho river rock]

If you are in the Methow Valley this weekend, you should head on over to the Confluence.  This isn’t a show to miss.  I wish I could be there in person as this is my first official participation in a fine art gallery exhibit!  I’ll pour a glass of wine here tonight and maybe nibble on a cracker smeared with goat cheese while I mutter some fancy art jargon under my breath in celebration (actually, I don’t know any art jargon, I may have to Google some highfalutin phrases).  Yahoo for me!  And thanks to Nicole who is a wonderful gallery director.  She hangs some awesome shows, people, some truly beautiful awesome shows.



hold on


the bomb blasts will

shake the long corners


of your spine

and leave you quaking


like the aspen

after a storm


you may think your heart

cannot continue this way


this time


perhaps the surrender to the softness

and sleep of eyes closed tight


seems the only way to find a path

curving up from the darkness


keep them open


see the everlasting energy of the wilds

the spinning forth of day into night


and night into day

the splendor of love


promises of light made true

the kindness of your neighbor


the broad limitless nature

of his open hands


never is all lost

though at times


we may believe

it is


let me receive you

let my love mend you


hear me


this will only go so far

and then it too shall pass