Photo of a fern tree

The Staghorn Fern: A poem

It swings from aching wood above the yard, afloat, unbothered by an earthly weight; a strain of creaks and moans leaves silence scarred, as unreality unfurls and baits.   It seems to prosecute through nature’s reign, green scales atop its olden, rotting skin; the ropes are burrowed under, ever strained,
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Into the wild

Human Nature

Realizing that nature will always be there, at least to some extent no matter where I go, is deeply comforting.
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The birding bubble

Human Nature

It’s almost as if draping a binocular strap over your shoulders marked you as a member of an exclusive club, and in some ways, maybe it did.
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