Salt lake city — I think he is one mountain with many heads. He had so much fun pushing the first head through the soil that he made another. This one a rocky crest. And then another, a slope-shouldered bowl cupping a lake. They say these are living mountains because they grow and change subtly each year. I think he squirms in his dreams, remembering the pleasure of rumbling up out of the earth for the first tim...
Salt lake city — As you get closer to the mountains, to the heights tall enough to catch and hold the cloudwash like sea foam, you can remember how the creatures in the Great Salt Lake felt, looking up through the fil...
Salt lake city — Part of me knows that the fog is a result of cold weather and inversion, of dense pollution hanging in clouds above our city. But another part of me catches sight of glittery particles floating in the...
Salt lake city — We finally bought our first home. And the pieces of our life that have been swirling, temporary are falling away like old feathers. This house is taking shape in my heart - I can see the years and day...
I always felt like fathers day was just a day for people with fathers in their lives.
Things I Learned from my First Half Marathon
Came into my first coupe glass today. Didn't so much inherit it as family circumstances made it available. I decided to celebrate with The Last Word, both boozy and sophisticated.
Ebb tide...
Fairychimes
Beerhive Pub
Promise
We cancelled cable three days ago.
Sometimes there's nothing you can do.
The earth has a memory.
Laramidia
Rain in the desert is a thief.
'Home' is becoming a place and shape in my mind.
On traveling
Much has been written on the interaction between built human environments and the natural world. Inspiration of functioning urban ecology.
Waiting for mole.
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
I don't want to wake up.
Winter colors
Fishbowl effect
Our revels now are ended.
Freezing fog
29 minutes. Connecting from some here to else where. RUN. -- Never imagining I'd turn my head and see you.
Living in community.
My heart can't hold all this wonder.
Seven-color rainbow
Small neuroses.
The perfect storm.
Puck
The mountains called to each other, rumbling and growling with thunder.
A letter home, the old fashioned way.
She's struggled out from under the suffocating clouds of smoke, and burns fiercely in her anger and triumph.
Ash fell from the sky today. I thought of Pompeii, but it's a wildfire beyond the Oquirrh ridge.
The sun wears a veil of smoke. She looks tired today, and sad.
Rain hangs in ribbons, never touching the ground. Dust swirls to meet the wet strands. Thunder cracks.
Some moments make your chest swell and your throat ache with faint echoes of someplace you used to know.
Sometimes it's nice to just watch the ducks being ducks and not talk and listen to the wind.
Lacey foam. A bagpipe. My love. A full bar. The trax rumble by. We pitch our voices to be heard over the clamber.
Ages ago, this valley was covered by Lake Bonneville. The lake still tosses old bones onshore. We can't forget it.
Religion is a cultural adaptation to impose social order on what civilization has made dispersed, anonymous, and chaotic. Mormonism makes that obvious.
I wonder what the cloud can see, looking down on the mountain's heads.