almost autumn

a bright breezebristled
nylon tent, waiting
under this curling tree

sweat and days-old
campfire smoke
woven into the threads
of a woolblend henley

dirt and moss,
soft and hollow
under thicksoled boots
and crisp air making for

breaths and deeper colors

... 'tis our season


on our own steam

"only when the last tree has died and the last river been poisoned and the last fish been caught will we realize we cannot eat money" – cree indian proverb

i fill my tank 2-3 times/week.

someday i will walk to work and always drink coffee from a glass jar. we will not buy any food in packaging we cannot repurpose & recycle. we will hang our laundry to dry and grow our own vegetables and power our lives with sun & wind.


conspiracy theory 1

little did we know that all those years of group sings around the fire at summer camp were really just to instill in us the capacity for the kumbaya feelings that as adults would compel us to stay at the bar to holler what words we can remember to just one more song by the cover band... oh, and buy just one more beer, naturally.