The Vignettes
Walk with me down the trail.
For two years, we lived in a tent trailer while traveling the American West. To document the kind of adventure I’d never have again, I told our stories through weekly vignettes.
We’ve left the RV life for now, but still continue to recount adventure’s ups and downs, our relationship with the outdoors, the wonderful disaster of parenting, and the struggle to catch lightening in the creative bottle.
If the Devil Had a Garden
Maybe there was a thread of recognition that passed between us, our paths having crossed before, and that’s why I noticed it. Admiring its reflection in a once-shiny chrome motorcycle gas tank.
Irregular Shadows
I imagine this is similar to being in what the Celts called a “thin place.” Where the veil between this world and others is smallest. Just like moments of portent, there’s an extra bit of resonance both deep in my chest and prickling on the surface of my skin.
Weather Makers
In that moment, I floated like the balloon and like the clouds caught on the atmospheric interruption. In that suspension, I was within my own cloud.
The Storm We Made
I didn’t even have to close my eyes to know how similar it sounded – to feel like I was walking down a street as the storm died down. I expected to reach up and feel wet hair on my head. I expected to have to change my socks when I got home.
Limber Pine
Being bendy can mean survival in the strangest, oddest, and most difficult of circumstances. Bowing to and with the storm is the practice for hovering over that cliff and then snapping back to where you were.