Wandering at the Edge of Fear and Beauty

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This morning, I walked into the woods. past the remains of human industry, moldering in the fresh shoots, turning brown and grey, across the stepping stone ford into the realm of the forest, where the primal imagination is at home and feels its roots. Tree roots twist in suggestive shapes; …

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Deep White

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Snowshoe to work.  Snow like frozen waves across the field. Buds frost spiked.  Brush wolf tracks across watering hole. Startling green watercress. Patterns emerge amid lengthening days.  More storms blow through, the world is blue tinged inside where windows are blocked by snowdrifts.  The wind whistles high through a crack …

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Snow-Mist and Forging Strands

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Late November brings snowstorms. The field behind my forge turns white and grey, obscured by pencil lines of snow. Ground freezes and propane is sluggish and recalcitrant in the mornings. Then as the month turns, it becomes warmer, snow turns to mist, the ground thaws. Creatures come out of their …

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