Editor’s Note by Martha Nichols
I bristle at the notion that creative people feel the deepest connections to nature.
I bristle at the notion that creative people feel the deepest connections to nature.
Last night I slept beneath the wings of Noctuidae.
This visit to Great Duck Island brings me back, reconnecting me to something I’ve lost.
The land seemed tortured, as if the vegetation had been slashed and burned.
Here in this place of house upon house, on this asphalt path hemmed by parkway and train tracks, a beauty as enchanted as I have ever seen.
The sky was aster blue, and the burnt, bare trees looked like punji sticks shooting up from the crest of the ridge.
Women writers have used 'Nature' and 'local color' in an extraordinarily clever way: as a mask for universal social criticism.
How many insults must a wingless mortal absorb while some assault bird keeps attack-tack-tackin’ windows around his house?
As much as I complain about the cold, I love winter’s light coming through the windows each morning.
Early in March, I can smell the bears turning in their caves.