Swiss Alps

Professional Angler

Third Grade Quilt Making

Found by Arbor Stories

JONO

Works of the lovely Emily Skaer

Papers

I was about five or six
when I passed by that old tree
School for the day had come to an end
While a hole in that tree
Drew me closeby
It asked me for my papers
The ones I wasn't so proud of
So I gave them willingly.



Submitted by Elaine Miller

The Earth
Round and hard, we are unforgiving in our pursuit for our own gain. We find alternatives, because you, the earth, are not good enough. Our Astro-turf, is perfect, could anything else be worthy enough of my money? Well, of course it’s not my money, but, I am simply the earth, and the booster club lives among me.
O earth, O earth, how we have evolved from you. How I yearn for a replacement for the weather, maybe, rain is the problem.

Alex Meyers

The Back of a Moth

Infinite gasping moments,
Extending in every beautiful vibrating particle.
A repeated pattern;symmetry on the back of a moth.

Connection in repetition,
A field of dewy grass
To a deserts endless glittering sand,
To he symmetry on the back of a moth.

Stars reflecting in the dark waves of your eye.
A lgihthouse’s ray sparkles on the dark sea.
Somehow we know, its resembling
The symmetry on the back of a moth.

A baby’s skin like a lamb’s ear plant,
An old man twisted like a ancient brittle oak.
We are beauty repeated from the ground.
We are the symmetry on the back of a moth.

Stacey Golub

The View Through the Window

The heavy, gray sky,
Imposing its menacing will,
Over the withering and weakening trees.
But not the water tower.
This cold, lifeless construction of man,
Unlike the trees,
Refuses to acknowledge the heavy, gray sky.


The Sun and the Moon
One brings us excited,
The other brings us to a calm,
One is a way of life,
While another brings us death

Hot as an egg frying day,
But cool as a cricketing summer night,
One is made of fire,
Yet another is made of cheese

They both bring us happiness in many ways,
One like a spicy chicken,
And another like a cool cucumber

But we know they will both be there,
Once we wake up,
And again when we rest our heads at night.

-Brooks Vigliaturo

Four Joints Deep

From the lovely Nick Tobier

bliss.
hazed sunlight crimson-azure
blankets plum wood grain. jasmine heady
swift ochre waves
crash eventide ashes of soul
hovering timid.
unmarred by print
onyx beach yearns infinite,
solitary gallivanter drifts shoreline
exhales intrinsic
bare foot, bare breast
bare bliss,
writhing in punch-drunk zeal





drive desire snowcapped peaks
destroy reality glacial lakes
reads paper stars escaped from planetarium
man vs. man man vs. nature
friends?
none




January 12th: 50 degrees and sunny
paper=trees
trees=good
enviro group like trees
enviro group tape flyers
colored paper of chemical dyes
fluorescent orange pink and green.
in Vietnam “they” made a green pig
fluorescent green
it’s simple “they” say
stick this needle full of some chemical
in the embryo
go on, do it
it’ll be cool.
c’mon Brazil is cutting
down the rainforest
industry is
melting the icecaps
c’mon
thrust it in there
rape normalcy
hock a loogie in the eye
of millions of years
of natural
evolution
Do It!
It’s fine.
nobody cares
not if,
“in the name of science”
What’s that?
A conscience?
No.
we killed it.
How?
Fame, glory, spite
Pick one


Alex Bryan

Lines

The surface of her velvet river
ripples and sways
back and forth,

water moves kindly
over the back of my eyes.
I tell myself

it is only an optical illusion
but
my gaze lingers, stretched wide,

ready to devour her explanation.
The leaves of her branches tremble,
hanging candidly off their stems—

like children, dancing weightless.
They offer no sign of resistance
to the wind.

Their arms hold form,
standing idle, and still,
they quiver.

I watch from behind, marvelling
the splendor, the gentle din
of her lazy river.

A lustrous liquid riding through
dips and moguls in my vision,
the contour of a woman’s body,
the shape of nature personified



Wasatch Front

Earth completes its annual revolution,
winter greets Utah peaks with snow.

The mountains, once bare,
grateful for its timely arrival,
stand together collecting stares.

A wise woman
communing with the heavens,
dressed in a white bonnet,
glinting at the town
tucked neatly in her lap.

A young trekker, posing beside her,
clouds hanging around his mouth,
inhaling cold air once exhaled
by pinion pines.

A well-versed vagabond, rising with the morning light,
spinning around in circles, sun in his eyes,
snow gathering atop his worn, brown hat.

They whisper to each other hallowed secrets of verve,
cleverly disguised in imperial crowns of snow.


Where have you been all this time?

One tree remembers my dirty feet
pressed firmly on her branches, the way
my grape Kool-Aid colored mouth
fell open as I peered into her canopy.

She was old but never stopped playing.
Watching my arms grow strong enough
to make it to the top.

Fourteen years stood between us until
I decided to return. I went back
and lit a fire on the beach.

Drinking tequila, it could have been
a mirage. My pacing made her dizzy,
after the flame died she watched patiently
as I sifted through the ashes.


Evening light pushing shadows long slant on the brick below leaves brighten in rising light leaning
to warmth
in a garden, leaves
captive, olive green--
hold a brisk memory of cousins
dancing
on the hills of Montevarchi dressed in sunshine
long vines, like hands, reach
through wooden boards
remain silent, watch softly evening light creeps upward
long slant

escaping the garden.



Terra Bogart

Current mood: creative

Nature, Eh? I Got Your Nature ...
Ok, so Sam and Cassie need something written having to do with nature. Here's one of my favorite true and recent stories ...

Back in November of 2003, I was in the Oscoda area of Michigan with my parents, as my niece and her kids were in the Oscoda Community Players production of "Gypsy". Sunday morning, my mom and I were standing on the Lake Huron beach near the cottages we'd rented for the night. It was cold, so cold there was a thin layer of snow on the sand. Mom and I were bundled up in our winter coats, wearing gloves and scarves, nursing mugs of hot coffee, watching the icy-cold waves hit the beach.

I mentioned to mom that one thing I've always wanted to do was live on one of the Great Lakes.

Someone else was obviously listening.

Almost exactly a year later, I was standing on the same beach. My niece's kids had been in "The King & I" the night before, with our own little 6-year-old Deanna having cracked everyone up as the littlest princess with a perfectly-timed "I believe in snow!" during the classroom geography argument. She also recited the letter to Mrs. Anna (from memory, mind you) while The King was on his death bed, driving the entire audience to tears and wild applause for such a tiny girl.

On that frozen beach with me on that Sunday morning in November 2004 was Mary, my wife of only two weeks. We had only met that May, mere months after someone besides mom listened to what I said about wanting to live on one of the Great Lakes.

We live in Mary's house in Luna Pier, Michigan, one of the towns she grew up in, about a thousand feet from Lake Erie. Evening walks take us to a bench on a concrete pier that juts out into the lake, where we watch fishers of all ages, genders, shapes and sizes, where we smile at the boats on that long horizon, and chat with passersby.

Winters aren't as cold in Luna Pier as they are in Oscoda further to the north. But since meeting and marrying Mary in 2004, winters are much warmer, and considerably cozier, than they've ever been before.

Even the cold from that lake we live so near to can't cut through any of that.

My Secret Place

My father has owned a farm in southern Missouri for seven years now. On weekends and special holidays, our family would make the 2.5 hour drive to stay a couple of days or sometimes even a week. Much of my adolescence was spent exploring—it was farm complete with hay fields, forests, two barns, a decrepit cabin, an old silo, and a river that bends around the property. It is a very peaceful place and very rich in plants and wildlife.
I often liked exploring alone, but for my very first time I walked with my father around the entire perimeter of the farm. It was a long trek, but it was full of adventure: it was my first taste of persimmons, my first clamber through thick forest undergrowth, my first sight of blackberry bushes. Along this adventure I encountered a very unique place in the woods—a clearing made by a large boulder barely coming up from the ground. A barbed wire fence divided the clearing in half, signaling the end of my father’s property and the beginning of our neighbor’s. It was this area that I chose as my secret getaway place.
In this place, I liked to lie on the rock and stare up at the sky, seeing branches swaying in the breeze, with a cloudy blue sky as a background. I would meditate, clear my head, calm down, or just enjoy the nature-filled solitude. I never told anyone where my secret place was. I wanted it to be all mine.
One time I was at the farm on a gorgeous summer day, and I was enjoying my secret place as usual. I decided to walk around it a bit before laying on the rock. I saw an interesting tree on the edge of a nearby ridge that has a big knothole in it. I looked down into it. My face was only a foot away from a big furry thing! I don’t think I breathed for several seconds. As much as I wanted to sneak away, I just couldn’t stop looking at it. I couldn’t see a head, but the fur suggested coyote to me. Its stomach moved gently as it slept. I wanted to touch its beautifully soft-looking fur, but I couldn’t disturb the sleeping animal. I quietly backed away and sat on the rock.
I didn’t mind sharing my secret place that day. That day I felt an intimate relationship with that coyote, both of us enjoying the secrecy of that little area. The horribly unfortunate thing is that a couple of months later, my neighbor cleared out his side of the fence in that area, leaving it exposed. The trees that had made it secluded and secret were torn away. The secret place that the coyote and I had shared is gone.

-Ally Apprill

hurricane

What wimps we are compared to nature.....Katrina and it's carnage----people killed, displaced, blocks of real estate gone or badly damaged. 4 million people in Houston overwhelming tiny freeways as they try to escape to the north or west---we are a joke compared to these storms......Hurricanes on the gulf coast, tornados in the midwest, sunamis in Asia, typhoons in the Pacific, earthquakes on the west coast, floods in the east..............how impotent mankind seems in their paths.

-glenn allen

"This morning, I was lighter than when I stepped out into the sun." sophia urista

-sam strand

grass is green
meat is tasty
vegetarianism is not natural

-jesse berman

That pond, there in the distance,
with its slight elevation from here
is no different from the pond that was there before it.
The people on the side of the highway,
picking up stones and putting them in their red minivan—
these details and the slight difference in color
of the clouds in front of me
are showing me so much more of
what this vision can do
besides see the flashing lights
in front of us.

-anna ash
_____----------


Kayaking before breakfast I hear chickens and a goose,
no waves, no words.
Sleeping under stars, staring at the water through mesh,
waking up with my naked ass in the naked air
in between Sam and a boy who has discovered
the windbreaking benefits of buttoning your top collar button.

-anna ash

____________

Never does
Never dies
Always there, under the sand
on my belly
or beneath the skin,
concealed by a scab like the hair
that grows across instead of up.
I crossed a moat on the beach
and a small girl in a green dress
pointed at me and whispered to her father,
“She’s a pretty girl, I like her.”
Me, on the beach,
next to a sleeping bag and a sandcastle.

-anna ash

___________
Here, on the beach
there is lightning bolting in front of us.
Let’s stay and laugh at the screaming girls,
our death probability is not a factor of concern.
I came to swim
Let’s get wet—intentionally in the rain.

-anna ash

____________

Annie Dillard wasn’t lying when she wrote about the thirteen-year life cycle of the cicada, which is spent almost entirely underground.

-anna ash
__________


“People are just like bugs—some can sing, and some cant.” David Strand

-anna ash

____________
Swimming with Jay to the boat
that we can’t even sail—
a boat over there
above our heads
beyond our swim.

-anna ash
__________

You, floating on the edge of the sidewalk:
all of you stuffed in a chloride pool
fit for spaghetti.
A saucepan of orange scales and flapping gills
stops me dead,
pauses my feet and slows my pulse
as I stare down at your inflated bellys,
little bubbles boiling in the morning front lawn.
But no!
bend down and look in.
One is still swimming amidst the masses—
dodging death like carrots dodge corn,
there in the saucepan of goldfish
on the edge of the sidewalk.

-anna ash

__________

Goldfish in the grass
cannot swim to the safety of cement
where we can see them
and gather them up in zip-lock bags,
take them home to a happy life
of castles and colored stones
where they will be loved
with a pinchful of goodness in the morning.

-anna ash

______________









Poem for the boy who sits next to me in theory class:
Flats and sharps told me
about harmonic minors
when James started swimming
in the shallow ended pool—
a lily pad floated by and
Him, being James,
jumping like a frightened frog,
slipped on the edge—
leaving me with a lily pad hat.

-anna ash

_________________

Page dripping in leaf juice
under this October sun.
The purple and orange centered daisy
balanced above my ear
watching a tuff of grass
poke through the cracks in the brick.
Sam’s New Guinea impatience
reacting to the passing boys on bikes.

-anna ash
___________

The month of raining leaves:
She was not afraid of spiders when she was a child.
She was afraid of cold feet in wet socks
and bees that didn’t buzz—
Those things that never get warm and
can never be predicted.
Vines did not remind her of snakes,
they reminded her of hands.

anna ash

______________








Dead balloons on the beach
all curled and furled in
a deflated mess of ribbon and rubber.
I pile them up in a grave
of deflated rainbow happiness,
just to look at the contrast
between them and the sand.

anna ash
_____________

The power of the beach and its water:

Maybe it is the comfort of knowing
that at any moment I could fall down
and it wouldn’t hurt.

Or maybe it is just my smallness,
a reminder of my insignificant size.
I like that.
I like the size of water.

Or maybe it is merely a reminder of home—
sand down my pants, wet shoes, cold wind,
the sound of waves, the squeak of sand.
It is more than a memory though,
it is some deep rooted element of me.
Me and large bodies of water.
Me running down the beach
only to intentionally fall down.

-anna ash

_____________



Don’t look through the window,
look out of it.
Don’t see leafless trees,
see leaf covered grass.
Don’t talk about the lonely bird in the sky,
talk about the sky with the bird in it.

-anna ash

Midnight Song

Dark at night
The ocean breaks
All your clouds
From teary seas

We roll in grass
It starts to rain
You wet your tongue
I dim your eyes

Champagne sun
A waxy dance
Pools of you
A broken fence

Your mended head
You fell on me
I break free
You tear

-jake merkin

root beer.

-jono sturt

I like the way light gets reflected off water. It looks like how glockenspiels sound.

-morgan morel

I love the scene in I Heart Huckabees where Jason Schwartzman rubs mud all over his face.

-vinnie massimino

I *covered* myself in mud today mountain biking in the rain. It was amazing! I wish I had pictures to share but no one had a camera. (Good thing, too, because a camera couldn't have survived the drenching we got).

-charley crissman

Clouds.
In this world of cars and computers and airports. There are clouds which just....float...in a nice blue sky (my favorite color) and they look so awesome. They suck me out of this world and then i'm in this fantasy land. ....It reminds me of my childhood for some reason.....You know when you are a kid and you think everything is perfect? I mean...that young....everything is perfect, everything is magical. When I see clouds, i get taken back to that time a little bit.


____________


I like when my toes are in my nice freshly washed 800 threadcount sheets, right when i wake up and the sun is just right and i stretch and rub my feet on the material over and over again.
....feels so good.

-travis skindzier

gettin' brown & seein' gray

I love being brown. Much to the chagrin and in spite of the warnings of many a dermatologist--but nothing soothes these weary bones like the sun. I'll take it anywhere I can get it but my favorite place to spread out and soak in the warmth is the southern Baja in Feb or March--gray whale season. The males are long gone, having come to the perfectly warm water temp where the Pacific meets the Sea of Cortez to mate and head back north again--- but the females are still there with their calves, until they get strong enough to make the migration back to Vancouver and beyond.
I'm told it's the largest mammal migration on the planet--some 10,000 miles round trip but I've never looked it up to confirm---I just enjoy laying back and watching, truly an idyllic setting for one of nature's spectacles.
Thankfully they are in abundance and I stop counting at 100 or so----if they aren't up close where we hear them blowing thru their spouts, rolling along at a leisurely pace, often side by side with a young one but often alone--they are further out towards the horizon and we first see the water plume shooting up in the air and your eye follows it down to the ocean, where the dark outline is visible.
It's my ideal place---where the rugged, hilly, tough desert meets the sandy beach leading to phenomenal mixtures of blue---stretched out poolside or walking the beach--watching these huge creatures from the north do what they do every year----a feast for the eyes and senses....and of course, I need to be reminded to turn over and brown the other side as another slowly makes her way past my piece of the beach.



_____________

starry, starry nights & a big ass moon.

I love the sky at night--any night but I have two favorites-------the first are dark, cloudless nights, far away from city lights where the stars seem incredibly brighter and I try to find the few constellations I recall from science classes of long ago. How incredibly small and insignificant it makes me feel---humbling but exhilarating at the sheer size and brightness of all the twinkling stars, planets, milky ways, and who knows what else is included--but it looks great. Throw in a shooting star or two, blazing it's burnout path in any direction and I am a happy, happy man.

Second---eerier, wispy cloud nights with a full moon---lighting up the water or landscape, a bit spooky but magnificent to see-----especially if it comes up orange/red and as it rises, becomes yellow and then white light. Looks like a map of something, never really get the face folks talk about---I don't want to go there, don't want to walk on the surface, just want to watch it's monthly journey from invisible, to tiny, to quarter, half, three-quarter and then the big kahunah itself.
Outstanding!

________________


It rained today-----smells great outside.


glenn allen

I remember naptime
Waking up in kindergarten
Sleeping on my mat
The room gray with light
Shining through the windows


-jake merkin

Hummingbirds and Butterflies---

I'm planning a butterfly friendly garden for spring. The assortment of butterflies in our part of Texas is amazing and I want to see them all spring, summer and fall. The garden is large enough there should be constant color coming and going throughout the day to complement the assortment of hummingbirds which are frequent and consistent visitors to our wooded backyard and the red feeders filled with the liquid that keeps them coming back for more.
No screensaver can capture the real thing and it's nice to unwind watching the hummingbirds and to add in the fluttery ones from the garden will be a huge bonus. So if the garden can become an oasis for the butterflies as the tree feeders are to the hummingbirds it will be a relaxing, colorful, living wonderland in the spring.

-glenn allen

A TYPICAL SUNDAY MORNING
Mrs. Bell religiously went to mass every Sunday. Most people go to church to get into heaven, but she went solely because she enjoyed watching the dumb-witted socialites mingle in an environment designated for worshipping. Mrs. Bell would chuckle when she heard them talking about the latest town bustle. Sometimes she’d catch them whispering about the typical stupid things her son did. Their tight, faux red curls must have been the reason they were so oblivious to life’s more important issues. Or maybe they were just a small group of billions who’d rather talk shit about other people than worry about real problems. Didn’t anyone care about the near extinction of the African elephant or the ever-depleting oil supply?
-Laura Peterson

3 Birds in Winter
for Ross Icyda

I
Last week when a snowstorm hobbled by
I watched an elderly pine creak
And I could not understand its pleasure:
Bark, chapped and cracked;
Limbs laden with clean snow.
But a hawk too,
Near the top as they always are.
Motionless, a few twists of the head,
He had found his spot and looked content.
(I would be too, if I were a hawk.)
Snow like lions, he would not fly today.
I think he knew that I stared at him
For more than an hour, counting the
Flakes that separated us,
Counting the flakes beyond.
Best of my friends; bold, brooding. Stationary.
I would not stop him from leaving
If he tried.

II
It is now mid-winter and every time
I see a mockingbird I think of
Their summer nests in the juvenile trees
By the library steps
Or the hedgerow that wound
Around your old street corner.
The edgy, angular screams of their young,
Impatient—
I had never heard a mockingbird
Not mock, and soon I hoped
That the trees would knock them down.
Now they are older, and I can no longer
Distinguish father from son and
Still I wish they would shut up.

III
I envy the seagull,
Equal parts pesky and sly,
Uncouth without apology. They gossip,
And in the sands once I spoke to one,
Because I thought perhaps
He had rested on your boat,
Surveying the deck from the rigging above.
Out at sea, he was attracted to
The white frothing brine—a meandering wound
That dangled from your stern like spider silk.
The air told him that he would
Soon be in Florida and warm.
Then a squall. Your hands tugged the line,
Disrupting his perch.
Your weeklong beard held bits of salt
Around your suncrisped lips.
If he had sense he would have left me
On the beach, and found your sails once more,
Because there is nothing so bleak
As Buzzard’s Bay on a gusty,
Disenchanted Christmas day.

-john presner

(instead of movie, there were train tracks & rocks & lilly pads & daggles of deese)

a rock carves a clean arc;
it drives down deliberately
punching the pond,
it shimmies to the silt.

Alexander Sebastian Pagliere

Yes, I run in the rain barefoot all time since I don't have an umbrella.
Sorry..I don't bake at all!
I only bird watch when they are eating an animal or food..it's pretty cool..i must say.
I actually star gazed on Saturday I was drunk..and i swear i saw a shooting star.
I rarley see any squirrels, but I bet I would chase them if I did.
As for snow angels...of course..look at my front yard in the winter...it looks like heaven!

-paige vanags

Desolation Peak

“And did you get what
You wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
Beloved on the earth”

-Raymond Carver, Late Fragment

Well. My computer has a virus so I can't send you the pictures from Europe. But I would FOR SURE have to say that the most amazing outdoor experience I ever had was climbing/biking through the Swiss alps. It was breathtaking.
-brett kopf

I was in Quetico Canadian National Park on a two week canoe trip through many of the Quetico lakes. It was about day 9, and we were paddling into a fierce wind and massive waves to accompany them in late afternoon. We were all tired and hungry. I was stern, which meant I steered the boat, a friend of mine was in the bow, named ethan, and in one of the duffs was our stuff and in the other was Antoine Beretz, a guy from France. With the massive waves, and the fact that we weren't really moving foward, Ethan wanted Antoine to paddle. He was intent on us getting there as soon as possible. Antoine was actually using a water bottle to empty out the lake water that was spilling into the canoe. After noticing the other canoes were having their duff passengers paddle, Antoine finally gave into Ethan's demands. So Antoine stopped emptying out the water, and further tipped the boat. Pretty soon the water was up to our ankles. Then to our knees, and finally, we gave up hope, and let our canoe sink. Now, my arm was broken, and I avoided at all costs to have it get wet. Eventually after about five minutes of trying to get the canoe back up, getting our bags so not all of the food was damaged, and sitting in cold Canadian water, Ethan grabbed my arm which I was holding in the air to keep it dry, and dunked it. Eventually we did make it to shore, but lost a meal in the process
-David Isenberg

Isabella Torres was an undeniable vagabond. She spent her whole life roaming from somewhere to nowhere. Her days were filled with rambling poetry and drunken exaltation. She traveled across the land without heed, sleeping under bridges and rising before the sun, writing poems that appeared in her head for no reason at all. She was a master poet, a Zen lunatic, a carpenter who built castles out of words; her divine inspiration was not of this world.
She was in lying on the beach, her duffle bag stuffed underneath her head when she decided to finally abandon the madness of the city. She had been fed up with the strange muddle of civilization for quite some time now, she told herself. It was time to go. She declared herself departed and stood up. The sun was setting. She picked up the bike laying next to her and headed north to Desolation Peak, the place, she was told, where lunatics could go to disappear.
It was a long trip up the coast and with each mile the highway grew more unfamiliar underneath her. She pedaled faster as she approached a large city, her legs pushing in frenzied circles. The lights ahead of her were pulsating, flashing red, yellow and white. The city was alive. Izzy hated it when people said that. The city is a machine, she blurted out loud, turning toward the trees to make sure they understood her. She stopped quickly at a small convenience store and bought a fifth of whiskey, some bread and peanuts, and stuffed them all in her bag.
She went east out of the city on a county road. The trees grew thicker as she pressed on. The snow covered mountain peaks ahead of her were glowing orange and pink, the rising sun warm on their backs. There were street signs showing the way to her mountain, and when she reached the foothill she got off her bike and collapsed onto the sodden grass, removing her boots and resting against an ancient Douglas Fir. She looked up and exchanged glances with an eagle sitting on the lowest branch. How would you like a little whiskey to unwind? The liquid dripped down her chin and warmed her throat and she took a large swig. She poured a charitable amount onto the lump of bright green moss growing along the trees roots, spilling some on her worn leather boots. Too stuck up, I suppose I would share with the tree instead. She laughed wildly for a few moments and then stopped abruptly. After taking a large drink of whiskey she began. The eagle watched her. Mountain is Buddha. Think of the patience sitting. Praying in silence. She spoke of Zen wisdom and immortality, her head becoming snowcapped in the poetry of the mountain. As she recited her haiku’s, there was a thunderstorm was positioning itself above the mountain. The eagle remained silent, blinking with every flash of lightening. The rain started to fall harder and streamed down Izzy’s face. Her wool coat was growing heavier, filling up with water. She stood up to find shelter, grumbling loudly to herself. As she was walking away, she looked back at the eagle and noticed that he had disappeared.
She began plodding up the mountain, all boots and fierceness, her eyes focused on the peak. She was still drunk and her boots were uneasy, sliding on the wet moss. When she stopped for a quick rest she noticed the eagle circling in the sky above her. Her stomach was growling and her mouth was dry. He’s been following me. She glanced up at him again. Just over the hill was a small creek and she decided to stop and eat. Izzy sat down and grabbed a branch lying on the ground. She pulled out a knife from her bag and began to carve a spear. When she finished, she inched slowly towards a deep pool of water to her right. She believed that it had formed from the creek bending around tree roots. Peering down towards the bottom, she could see tiny flecks sparkling, each one a different color of the rainbow. She paused to focus on the endeavor she was about to begin.
Carefully balancing her weight, she lifted herself over the pool, placing one foot firmly on each side. Her spear plunged through the water until it stuck into the sand and the rainbow specks flashed in the water. Damnit. She tried again, and missed, becoming irritated by her own lack of skillfulness. She saw the eagle descending and landing softly on an old tree stump. He looked at her quizzically, shocked by her cumbersome movements. Izzy tried one more time and stabbed her spear into the water. She pulled it back out, her arm shaking under the weight of a rainbow trout covered in luminous jewels. The fish was flailing about, and Izzy squinted as the jewels flashed brightly in her eyes. She turned to look at the eagle. How brilliant. This is for you. Izzy removed all of the trout’s jewels and placed the naked fish on the ground in front of her. She slipped the jewels into her bag and pulled out the bread and peanuts she had bought at the store. The eagle began to slowly approach the trout and Izzy looked the other way. They ate together in silence.
When they were finished, Izzy stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. The eagle flapped his wings a few times and soared up into the sky. Izzy continued hiking toward the summit, the eagle following above her. When they reached the timberline at dusk, Izzy found a small rock shelter and decided to call it home for the night. As she started to settle in she realized that she didn’t know how to start a fire. Her head hurt and the alcohol was started to wear off. She crawled out onto the rock terrace and gazed out at the mountain silhouettes. It occurred to her suddenly that she could ask the eagle to help her find firewood. He agreed and flew away. Izzy crawled back into her rock shelter and dozed off. When she awoke, there was a fire blazing behind her. She turned around and stared at it, mesmerized by its deafening radiance. The light of the fire flickered wildly and illuminated the rock walls. She noticed petroglyphs on the wall and she wondered why she hadn’t seen them before. The glow of the fire changed from red to blue and she saw a shadow moving on the ceiling. A bird, or perhaps a ghost. The light of the fire disappeared with a strong gust of wind and the moon was shining bright now from behind the trees. She heard laughter and insane murmuring but she was not afraid, she was holding her breath. Holy vision, wake me up. She crawled out from under the rock shelter and stood on the terrace. She began to dance wildly in the glow of the moon, spinning around in circles until she fell down, remaining there throughout the night.
When morning came she sat up cross-legged in the alpine grass and gazed out at the pointy snow covered rocks. Her hair was changing, fading to white, her skin slowly growing harder. She leaned back and laughed, her chest jumping in between fits. The eagle sat watching her, until finally it was impossible for him to tell where Isabella ended, and the mountain began.

We are building a hotel in downtown Portland called “The nines”. It is a historic building which previously housed the Meier and Frank department store. It was built around the turn of the century. The hotel will occupy the top nine floors (hence the name), and Macy’s will occupy the bottom 5 floors. In addition to preserving an historically significant building, we are building according to LEED’s standards. The building will be Silver Leed certified. Leed means Leadership in Energy and Environmental design and is sponsored by the US Green Building Council.
-walter isenberg (President of Sage Hospitality)

I got a story for the press that'll make you all quiver in your panties and boxers. One that entails the life of non-human entities that lurk in the dark of the night. They walk on four legs. They run elegantly through the brambles in the forest. They partake of the fruits of the environment and rush back into the shadows of the night.

I was coming home from the Art School at 4 am on a cold frigid December night. i had just locked up the print lab, wiped down the tables, cleaned the sinks, and shut the lights off. I left the art school from the back door because it was the closest exit. I also wanted to see the trees lit up by the street lights. I wanted to see the snow flash before my eyes. I had a feeling that I would see the dwellers of the night...

I took my usual route across the Music School pond and around the terrace to the side. The wind's gust got faint for a quick second and something made me turn around. That's when I saw, not 4, 5, or 6.. but 12 deer run out from the trees like a bat out of hell straight to the pond to drink water and eat leaves. I was in awe as to have witnessed this phenomenon.

So me being my dumb self wanted to get closer and attempt to interact with these titans of the night. The deer around the school are said to be sometimes timid and quick to scurry off. Some have said they show a signs of sovereignty and stand their ground. The deer I saw turned out to be the timid types and thus ended my adventure home.; well the exciting part at least.


~ Gary
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The world is round. You know this for fact.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Tuesday, July 12, 2006, at the end of a lengthy Orlando trip and a rental car having half a tank of gas that we'd already paid for, we made the drive out to the Space Coast and the Kennedy Space Center. Finding the Visitor Center to be $38 each was discouraging. On our way out, Mary asked me to take a picture of a sign next to the Kennedy parking lot that read "Warning: Drainage Ditches Infested with Poisonous Snakes". I got out, and as I lined up the shot, I kept hearing "Closer … get closer … watch your step!! {giggle!}" Yeah, ok, got the shot, thanks.

At the Space Center I kept hearing what sounded like thunder. Mary said, "Around here, it could just be them moving things. BIG … things." Driving further north we found the Enchanted Forest wildlife sanctuary, part of the Environmentally Endangered Lands Program. Almost as soon as she pulled into the driveway, Mary pulled over and walked up to a large gopher tortoise about fifteen inches long, who seemed to pose for the picture she took ...

At the station, WWII veteran Vernon told us about the trails we could explore and then pointed us to the trailhead. We followed the trail past an active gopher tortoise burrow with babies in it, through the Florida scrub to a Mesick Hammock with a massive canopy. But those rumblings I'd heard back at the Space Center were getting louder, not quieter. Mary said, "You know, sometimes there's a lot of noise and nothing happens". After a quarter mile or so, after Mary'd taken a picture of an orb spider and I'd gotten bitten by something that had crawled into the leg of my shorts, it started sprinkling. NASA's moving things? I didn't think so anymore. Of course, once we hit the sandy desert area where there was no more canopy, the sky cut loose with some serious rain. We plodded back to the station to drip-dry in the screened-in outdoor presentation area.

While waiting for the rain to let up, we spotted a huge and beautiful banana spider on the screen in the framework of the screen we were in. With a body a couple inches long, her leg-spread was a good four inches front-to-back. The gold-colored web she'd spun was in at least two layers, with her tiny male and a lot of food inside. We took a number of pictures of her from all sides and all angles, with her only moving once to do some web repair.

Back at the airport we checked our bags for the flight home and met up with Rita, who we would take home from the airport back in Michigan. After deciding to go to the Macaroni Grill instead of Chili's, Mary and I ordered the Pasta Milano, a perfect bowtie pasta with grilled chicken, sundried tomatoes and mushrooms in a garlic cream sauce, which, because it was served piping hot with lots of black pepper, caused us to drink plenty of cold fluids before getting on the plane for home.

It seemed a perfect ending to a culinarily satisfying trip.
-david liske

Elemental

Aren't sand & wind &
rain
some of the best friends you'll ever
know?
Yes, sometimes unfair, harsh...never
untrue.

And aren't trees, flowers & grass
the best lovers?
Yes, sometimes aloof, unavailable....never
untrue.

And aren't people, men, women, children
the best hope?
Yes, sometimes sincere, comforting, loving...yet often
untrue.

-David Strand

The Spoils

A Beautiful morning
Down at the barn,
Running dogs
Chasing cats
Horses in the field.

Happiness

A look across
The still pond,
A successful hunt
Last night’s spoils

Sadness

A bounding partner
Into the woods

Weeping

-Kathryn McQuater

This is a true story…..
the year your grandpa Harvey passed on, i was in the valley and decided
to go on a walk by myself, you know, just to be alone, and think about
Harvey. I was about 1/2 hour out of camp then a heard a extremely
haunting sound, so i turned towards it and every so quietly i moved
towards it. the sound was loud, as i came to a clearing in the woods, i
noticed a huge bird on a tree about 100 yards away and 50 feet up, it
looked all black, as i clicked the safety off and took aim, the bird
took flight, i was paralyzed by what i saw, at about 4-5 foot wing span
and its jet black and white underwings and his bright red head, i knew
what i was seeing was a rare site in northern Michigan, as it flew
toward a tree some 50 yards away, all i could do is lower my gun and
just watch in awe for the next few minutes as i watch the elusive
Piliated woodpecker do its thing...ill never forget that sighting, it
was a beauty of nature...

-David Parzkyski

It hangs there frozen, covered with ice
In a field where no others are floating
Confused, it blows every direction

Still hanging

All the trees stand tall,
Commanded in a row-
An army
All of which are lonely, but this tree-

Where my leaf is

-Zach Tomaszewski

My Attempts To “Fit In”
John Bult
They are cocky, skiddish, self centered, egotistical “rodents”. And yet, seeing them everyday makes me want to be a part of their seemingly happy group. Each individual strives to fit into a crowd. To be part of a community is to feel safe. When I was in elementary school, I wanted to be with the basketball players. When I was in middle school, I wanted to be a part of the popular crowd. When I was in high school, I wanted to be part of the artsy musician group. And now that I am in college, I thought I had outgrown “wanting to be part of the crowd”. However, it turns out that I find myself sitting in the grass, trying to once again become part of a crowd. I want to be part of the squirrel community. No, I’m not talking about the squirrel loving students that have organized together to feed the squirrels. I actually want to BE one of the squirrels. And not just that, but I want to be the “squirrel king”.
I start out my quest to rodent stardom by first studying my future community and preparing a strategic method of fitting into their society. I assume, that with the right plan, I can soon warm up this group to accept me into their ranks. Once in, I will comfort, communicate and work my way up to the top of their society. I know I am smarter than them, and it shouldn’t be too hard to manipulate them into accepting me. In all instances, the individual seeks a target group and works their way into their ranks. It should be no different in this situation.
The first step that I take is to abandon my previous group or community and start fresh. As with all groups accepting new members, it is easiest if the new entrant is not already a part of a previous group. For example, a “jock” group will have a hard time accepting someone from the “geek” group. However, if the “geek” can prove that they also have traits of the “jock” group, then the acceptance will become that much easier. As with the case ahead of me, I imagine the squirrel group will have a hard time accepting someone from the human group. Therefore, I must abandon my human self and embrace my new, squirrel self.
After assembling a small package of squirrel treats, peanuts, Cheerios and Cheetos, I make my way to the hangout. In this situation, the hangout of my future friends is “the diag”, a central courtyard of my college. It is here that a large community of squirrels go about their lives, eating, digging, and having a generally care-free lifestyle. I find a nice place to sit in the middle of the hangout and disassemble my package, placing all the treats in front of me. It is at this point that I notice my first potential friend.
Mugsy is a young squirrel that is quite skinny. He, I assume he is in fact male, has a scrawny tail and a dirty face. I throw him a Cheeto and his first reaction is to run away. However, it is not too much later that I see him returning and twitching his tail and nose. As soon as he reaches the Cheeto- not any more than four feet from me- he bites it in half and runs a short distance away with one half in his mouth. He begins to eat but still remains in sight of me, or vice versa.
This exchange persists through three different snacks, but no progress is made. Mugsy still acts afraid of me and timidly eats his treats without gaining any trust for me. Even though I am feeding him and showing no signs of threat, I am still failing to be accepted into their community. It is at this moment that I look across the yard and notice some other student sitting in the grass and eating a sandwich. There is another squirrel not too far from her. The student, without giving it much thought, throws a piece of bread towards the squirrel and continues to eat her own sandwich. Alas, I am no different than every other human here.
So, I reevaluate my approach and start over. I still use food as my means of gaining their trust. However, instead of sharing food like a human would do, I decide to share food the way a squirrel would. I start foraging. To begin, I hide my bag of treats and walk away. A few minutes later, I return and pretend to sniff around, searching for a tasty snack. Once my own bag has been found, I sit down and nibble on them one at a time. All the while, I am looking around nervously, anticipating a predator; but hopefully, another squirrel. Sure enough, one bewildered squirrel slowly jump towards my food and me. Now that I have an observer, I make a few chirping noises and attempt to beckon the squirrel closer. Seeing that he is quite satisfied staying where he is, I throw two pieces of cereal at him. As before, he sniffs around, grabs the cereal and runs away. I have failed again.
I start the previous process over again, hiding the bag of snacks, rediscovering it and nibbling on them until other squirrels come. However, instead of throwing them food, I pretend to be full and hop away. I figure if I leave the food behind, the other squirrels will come by and eat it. I wait a very long time as one squirrel, I now call him Butch, slowly makes his way to the abandoned food. He seems to be very reluctant to be next to the bag, but the cheesy smell of the Cheetos is too much for him to resist. I wait a little longer, as Butch makes himself comfortable crunching through the bag. Then, I slowly approach Butch, hoping to share a snack with a new friend. He is immediately aware of my presence and sounds a warning cluck for me to stay away. I persist, showing him my bravery. He tufts up his fur, violently twitches his tail and continually scolds me with a loud ear-piercing “kwee”.
Like with any other person seeking to be part of a crowd, there is a moment of challenge, an innocent “hello”. The new member stands his or her ground, opening up themselves and all their vulnerability to the rest of the group. This is the moment before acceptance. Beyond this point, there is no backing down. But as quickly as it starts, it often quickly ends. Either the group will accept the newcomer, or immediately shun them away. I am now at this point and seeing Butch’s intimidating stance, I find myself wishing to back down. But the challenge is too far along. Butch jumps out between me and his newly claimed bag of food. At this moment, other squirrels appear, watching the fight between their leader and me. I should have known that Butch was the leader considering his large size and protruding talons. I may have overstepped my bounds and challenged the leader too early. Even if, by some miracle, I do win this battle, I will never be able to regain the other squirrels’ trust after insulting their leader. I decide my best bet is to just leave and start over, once again.
Feeling immensely discouraged and no longer having a bag of treats, I sit under a tree and think over my next approach. Just above me, sits another squirrel. She is perched on a branch and is looking at me with a sarcastic look on her face. Unlike the other, male squirrels, she seems to have no fear of me whatsoever. In fact, I begin to think that the only way for me to get into their group is through the females. I wish I had some snacks left. She hops down the tree and sits near me, one eye peering at me and the other staring off into the distance. We stare at each other for a while. I make a few clucking noises and she responds. Although, when she finally decides I have no food, she is no longer interested in me. She pounces over to another couple eating in the grass and promptly receives a piece of popcorn. She carries it in her mouth and hops past me, scurrying up the tree from which she came. I watch her go all the way to the near top where there is a clump of dead leaves and sticks. This seems to be her nest.
It is at this moment, looking up into her nest, that I realize my biggest flaw. The problem is not that I can’t properly act like a squirrel, but that I was not born a squirrel. No matter how much I study and mimic this community, I will never be a part of it. Even in my past experiences, I had a hard time feeling like I belonged to any certain group. I was not born a basketball player, a popular person or an artsy musician type. Honestly, I don’t think I will ever feel like I belong to a group. It seems a bit silly that I realize this while trying to be a squirrel king. No human can be the squirrel king. Actually, I doubt if even Butch could be the squirrel king. The more I think about it, the more independent the squirrels seem to be. And with each squirrel being as independent as they are, the less likely it seems that they would have a king, or even a leader. No, Butch was no leader. He was merely another independent squirrel, living his own squirrel life. Perhaps I am just another independent human, living his own human life.
-john bult

My Attempts to Fit In

They are cocky, skiddish, self centered, egotistical “rodents”. And yet, seeing them everyday makes me want to be a part of their seemingly happy group. Each individual strives to fit into a crowd. To be part of a community is to feel safe. When I was in elementary school, I wanted to be with the basketball players. When I was in middle school, I wanted to be a part of the popular crowd. When I was in high school, I wanted to be part of the artsy musician group. And now that I am in college, I thought I had outgrown “wanting to be part of the crowd”. However, it turns out that I find myself sitting in the grass, trying to once again become part of a crowd. I want to be part of the squirrel community. No, I’m not talking about the squirrel loving students that have organized together to feed the squirrels. I actually want to BE one of the squirrels. And not just that, but I want to be the “squirrel king”.
I start out my quest to rodent stardom by first studying my future community and preparing a strategic method of fitting into their society. I assume, that with the right plan, I can soon warm up this group to accept me into their ranks. Once in, I will comfort, communicate and work my way up to the top of their society. I know I am smarter than them, and it shouldn’t be too hard to manipulate them into accepting me. In all instances, the individual seeks a target group and works their way into their ranks. It should be no different in this situation.
The first step that I take is to abandon my previous group or community and start fresh. As with all groups accepting new members, it is easiest if the new entrant is not already a part of a previous group. For example, a “jock” group will have a hard time accepting someone from the “geek” group. However, if the “geek” can prove that they also have traits of the “jock” group, then the acceptance will become that much easier. As with the case ahead of me, I imagine the squirrel group will have a hard time accepting someone from the human group. Therefore, I must abandon my human self and embrace my new, squirrel self.
After assembling a small package of squirrel treats, peanuts, Cheerios and Cheetos, I make my way to the hangout. In this situation, the hangout of my future friends is “the diag”, a central courtyard of my college. It is here that a large community of squirrels go about their lives, eating, digging, and having a generally care-free lifestyle. I find a nice place to sit in the middle of the hangout and disassemble my package, placing all the treats in front of me. It is at this point that I notice my first potential friend.
Mugsy is a young squirrel that is quite skinny. He, I assume he is in fact male, has a scrawny tail and a dirty face. I throw him a Cheeto and his first reaction is to run away. However, it is not too much later that I see him returning and twitching his tail and nose. As soon as he reaches the Cheeto- not any more than four feet from me- he bites it in half and runs a short distance away with one half in his mouth. He begins to eat but still remains in sight of me, or vice versa.
This exchange persists through three different snacks, but no progress is made. Mugsy still acts afraid of me and timidly eats his treats without gaining any trust for me. Even though I am feeding him and showing no signs of threat, I am still failing to be accepted into their community. It is at this moment that I look across the yard and notice some other student sitting in the grass and eating a sandwich. There is another squirrel not too far from her. The student, without giving it much thought, throws a piece of bread towards the squirrel and continues to eat her own sandwich. Alas, I am no different than every other human here.
So, I reevaluate my approach and start over. I still use food as my means of gaining their trust. However, instead of sharing food like a human would do, I decide to share food the way a squirrel would. I start foraging. To begin, I hide my bag of treats and walk away. A few minutes later, I return and pretend to sniff around, searching for a tasty snack. Once my own bag has been found, I sit down and nibble on them one at a time. All the while, I am looking around nervously, anticipating a predator; but hopefully, another squirrel. Sure enough, one bewildered squirrel slowly jump towards my food and me. Now that I have an observer, I make a few chirping noises and attempt to beckon the squirrel closer. Seeing that he is quite satisfied staying where he is, I throw two pieces of cereal at him. As before, he sniffs around, grabs the cereal and runs away. I have failed again.
I start the previous process over again, hiding the bag of snacks, rediscovering it and nibbling on them until other squirrels come. However, instead of throwing them food, I pretend to be full and hop away. I figure if I leave the food behind, the other squirrels will come by and eat it. I wait a very long time as one squirrel, I now call him Butch, slowly makes his way to the abandoned food. He seems to be very reluctant to be next to the bag, but the cheesy smell of the Cheetos is too much for him to resist. I wait a little longer, as Butch makes himself comfortable crunching through the bag. Then, I slowly approach Butch, hoping to share a snack with a new friend. He is immediately aware of my presence and sounds a warning cluck for me to stay away. I persist, showing him my bravery. He tufts up his fur, violently twitches his tail and continually scolds me with a loud ear-piercing “kwee”.
Like with any other person seeking to be part of a crowd, there is a moment of challenge, an innocent “hello”. The new member stands his or her ground, opening up themselves and all their vulnerability to the rest of the group. This is the moment before acceptance. Beyond this point, there is no backing down. But as quickly as it starts, it often quickly ends. Either the group will accept the newcomer, or immediately shun them away. I am now at this point and seeing Butch’s intimidating stance, I find myself wishing to back down. But the challenge is too far along. Butch jumps out between me and his newly claimed bag of food. At this moment, other squirrels appear, watching the fight between their leader and me. I should have known that Butch was the leader considering his large size and protruding talons. I may have overstepped my bounds and challenged the leader too early. Even if, by some miracle, I do win this battle, I will never be able to regain the other squirrels’ trust after insulting their leader. I decide my best bet is to just leave and start over, once again.
Feeling immensely discouraged and no longer having a bag of treats, I sit under a tree and think over my next approach. Just above me, sits another squirrel. She is perched on a branch and is looking at me with a sarcastic look on her face. Unlike the other, male squirrels, she seems to have no fear of me whatsoever. In fact, I begin to think that the only way for me to get into their group is through the females. I wish I had some snacks left. She hops down the tree and sits near me, one eye peering at me and the other staring off into the distance. We stare at each other for a while. I make a few clucking noises and she responds. Although, when she finally decides I have no food, she is no longer interested in me. She pounces over to another couple eating in the grass and promptly receives a piece of popcorn. She carries it in her mouth and hops past me, scurrying up the tree from which she came. I watch her go all the way to the near top where there is a clump of dead leaves and sticks. This seems to be her nest.
It is at this moment, looking up into her nest, that I realize my biggest flaw. The problem is not that I can’t properly act like a squirrel, but that I was not born a squirrel. No matter how much I study and mimic this community, I will never be a part of it. Even in my past experiences, I had a hard time feeling like I belonged to any certain group. I was not born a basketball player, a popular person or an artsy musician type. Honestly, I don’t think I will ever feel like I belong to a group. It seems a bit silly that I realize this while trying to be a squirrel king. No human can be the squirrel king. Actually, I doubt if even Butch could be the squirrel king. The more I think about it, the more independent the squirrels seem to be. And with each squirrel being as independent as they are, the less likely it seems that they would have a king, or even a leader. No, Butch was no leader. He was merely another independent squirrel, living his own squirrel life. Perhaps I am just another independent human, living his own human life.
-john bult

my experience with nature is riding on the boat at the lake with the pretty trees surrounding me and the sun reflecting off of the water.
-amanda huebner

One of the things I have learned to lead a successful life is to " stay in the present" not live in the past or the future . Participating with Nature is one of the best ways to do that and remember that. I remember some glorious hikes in Breck walking along the streams and waterfalls, as the sounds and sights and smells ignited all my senses at that moment. The same can be said with fly-fishing among the streams , mountains and the glorious sunshine. And of course skiing with friends, when I became part of the mountain, the wind blowing in my face, and feeling of warmth and exhilaration as I raced down the mountain. In all of these all I could do was to enjoy the moment and all of gods work.
-irv robinson

Memories Past

Cold Breeze against the Trees.
Long Sleeves crunchy Leaves.
Young Boy
Mother Earth

Thick Woods with Nature’s Goods
Understood since Childhood
Forgotten Joy
Now resurged

Nature is gay.
-Benjamin Robert Claghorn

The battle of the desert vs. sky

Sand for miles as far as the eyes can see
The desert
An endless drought, a thrist quenched by sand
With clear skies from above
Looks like an earthbound sun
Radiating its own fiery heat
But every now and then a declaration of war
I miss those rare moments of obscurity in the desert
Rain in the desert is a special thing
An invasion, the brutal artillery blasts
Each droplet hits the sand, kicking up debris
Leaving small craters as the water seeps in
The attack brings out the life, a signal
Suddenly, as if by alarm, blooms organisms
The desert's reataliation
insects to jack rabbits to mountain lions,
All the flowers come to ripen
The intense volley a life source
Cacti rejoice, blossoming in youth
Even the tumbleweed rejuvenated
Rainforest would be surprised
And I fall in love with battle
The bleakness of dirt and dryness
It makes for a terrible existence, but spotted
Speckled with beautiful, unmatched moments of joy
This good exalted by the bad
Resemebles life's simple ploys
I wish to resume my childhood, staring off into the abyss
Sand for miles, as far as the eye can see

Enrique Barajas

Green and gray, gray and gree,
Each are colors often seen,
But few take time to pause and wonder
As their lives are torn asunder.

Torn apart by hustle and hurry,
Torn apart by stress and worry.
But few take time to discover what it means:
The skies filled with gray and the earth with greens.

Amanda Hemmingsen

With your eyes half open, staring straight ahead.
A dusk for those with no regrets.

As a tiring toddler who's ready for bed.
Poised to rest a weary head.

With wishful thinking, watching closely.
Concentrating on what's around me.
Neighboring cookouts, fresh cut grass.
Summer nights should always last.

Together with a loved one.
Won't resemble any past ones.
Wondering if anyone will call this one their last one.

To collect ideas for a novel. In a stagnant ocean it is but a pebble. A tiny rupture.
Bursting forth , a tsunami of inspiration.

With glowing eyes absorbing the setting sun.
Until morn again around the bend.

Scott Montana

Leaches

Together, humans and trees harmonize,
Using each other's wastes for life.
An unlikely paradox,
Parasites.
Green equals life, for the other green is death.
We are the sun and moon cycles.
With nothing and everything in common.

Stacey Golub

An abiding
As a foreigner
To see someplace else
And admire
For an instant-

If only our memories
Were as tangible
As falling leaves
Falling from us
Not hiding in windless dark
We might see
Our education
Infinitesimal
Not ourselves
Never nature
Never peace
Zeno's arrow to the tree
Soul happy for an instant
To see outlines primordial
And currents everlasting
Something living forever
A whole

-Michael Grotz

Seven ways of looking at a tree

I
An hourglass of life,
Part hidden from view,
Seen entirely by few.

II
Cool, green shade,
The most vibrant grey.
A haven from oppression,
An oasis from the sun.

III
You can read the Times under a tree
Without the thought that he is reading too.

IV
An overbearing master,
Watching over all
With stern authority.

V
A tree persists
As a wounded soldier
Who refuses to die.

VI
Like a person it bleeds
Straight from the heart,
But too proud to scream
When you tear it apart.

VII
A brown leaf falls to the ground.
Every year dying,
But always reborn.

-Danny Lawrence-

Arusha, Tanzania Alex Hodges

Autumn leaves fall softly so,
Beneath the old red and green oak,
The wind whistles in the past of fallen feats,
Frozen whispers whirl around days gone,
Only to catch defeat in its prior moments,
Unopened;sold to Gods for contribution of soul,
Only in times past do we see what’s ahead,
Only when we are behind do we see time as a whole,
Changing worlds catch us unaware and premature,
Times beneath reality’s grasp are lost to the present,
But only when the worlds burdens creep in
Do we find Life’s true meaning,
And Earth’s true beauty,

The efficient surroundings of natures humble abode
Keeps secrets only for special unique situations,
Birds chirp, Snakes hiss, Deer frolic,
The communication of Earth’s creatures
Become more fierce and innovative in their intentions,
Closely linked to every living being,
Individual treasures unknown to population,
Hidden forever among the Earth’s assets.
-Andrew Block-

Faerie Trees

Above the pastel apartments of San Francisco,
We sisters stood in a cluster of gnarly trees
In the middle of Land’s End National Park.
The distant shish of the low tide slipped through the bows to us.
The Fern Gully-like, mossy canopy hovered only a few feet above our heads.
Decrepit Mother Earth’s arthritis-ridden fingers enclosed us in a circular cluster.
The woods seemed silent and still, until I listened harder-
To the scuttle of longhorn beetles, to the scamper of rabbits and rodents.
The distant shish of the low tide slipped through the bows to the clearing.
My sister, she swore there was something else
Hiding behind Mother Earth’s wrinkled hands-faeries.
The sparkles in the dirt she swore was flying dust.
And she had no doubt they’d poke their pointed nosed around the leaves they clutched to
As soon as we were turned the other way.
If only we could all turned around a little faster.

Katie Jones

Wintertide

The world is awash in a silvery wintertide.
Fragmented moonlight of the stars
Fades into the up-stretched arms of trees,
A product of earth and a product of sky,
A parallel couplet.
Observe as the stratosphere
Comforts the sleeping child earth
With a stark blanket.
The zest of autumn,
A mere bedtime story.
The murmuring silence
Echoes the world-song of celestial-truth.
In the needling cold,
Falling fire sparks.

Emily Hipps

Imagination

One day while walking along the still, blue lake
I saw a tree that was no more.
Chopped down to the ground,
Leaving behind its bare open face.
Exposed to the elements
A low flat circle.
Upon this disc two little girls sat,
Absorbed in their own game.
The stump was a Broadway stage
Or a tea table for a queen. They laughed and sand, enjoyed their new friend,
Even though she no longer stood tall.
The girls had taken something that had been left for dead.
Brought it back to life again,
Through the power of imagination.
----Meg Howland

Can I get a "Yahoo!" from all you fourth-graders out there?

Mr. B's Fourth Grade Class,
Grandview Elementary, Grandville, MI:

Photographs of sunsets in Los Angeles
Submitted by Erica Levin

A camper in Wisconsin
Submitted by Amanda Karp

Unexpected Beauty: Lack of Light

She was getting short of breath, as she wasn’t one to hike very often. The day was becoming night and the light was fading slowly to dark. She and her two friends continued in a straight line; they wouldn’t stop until they reached their final destination. Though she sometimes got scared in the dark this time was different. She felt an aura of mystery and enchantment. They had reached their point of interest; a small cove-like area surrounded by over bearing trees, a large ditch, and a rope hung from a large tree. Just by looking at the rope, it was obvious that generations of children had swung across the ditch. And though nobody knew who put the rope there, everyone used it for his or her enjoyment. A canopy of trees surrounded them, and the glowing moon, a flashlight, and the occasional flash of her camera lit the sky. As her friends swung on the rope over the deep pit she watched and documented with concern, and yet also delight. Too scared to swing herself, she caught her friends’ emotions and reactions as they flew through the night sky. Smiles, gasps, and laughter. They knew that there was risk in flying through the sky over the ditch, but also got such a rush that they glowed with sheer delight. The playful activity was at once beautiful and youthful--in the dark, the fun of whizzing through the air, and laughing with each other as each one landed safely. She wasn’t afraid anymore because she was enthralled by the vision of her friends swinging like monkeys through the dangling leaves draped under the star filled sky. She saw the flashes of them swinging in the air, like she was forming these images of memory to take with her after this adventure. It was magical.
***
This brought her back to a memory from her early childhood. She remembered coming to this very same spot, only it was many years ago. At that time she never would have dreamed of hiking at night. So young, and so afraid of what she could not see in the dark, hiking at night was spooky and unsafe, and nowhere that she wanted to be. It was light out then, and it all seemed so much larger to her. She sat on a log eating her sandwich in this little forest dreamland, and she watched the water dribble down the stream. She remembered swinging on that rope; what a rush dangling over the stream with the wind racing through her hair. She didn’t know why it scared her right now; it was perhaps just a fear of the lack of light- swinging and not seeing- as though she were blind.
***
They decided to head back. She made her friends let her walk in the middle because it made her feel safe. The safety of being surrounded, so that nothing would attack her form behind, or the dark distance right in front of her. She thought it was silly how she gained the “mother” title of her friends, when all along they were taking care of her in her fear filled moments. When the people who knew how real her fear was helped and didn’t take it lightly, she knew that she was safe. She wasn’t always taken seriously, because she seemed like a child, but she really did fear what could happen to her in the dark, alone. She liked to be around people, and enjoy the beauty of the dark, without being afraid.
***
She remembered another trail, much shorter, and at the time unfamiliar. Being in the dark, in unknown places made her nervous. She didn’t like to be surprised, thinking something would jump out at her. It was a fear that grew with her since she was little, still strong when she was outside of her comfort zone. She was scared because she had no flashlight- she wasn’t given the time for light to fade to dark- it was just dark. She tried to laugh and be loud with her friends so that her fear would go away, but it always rested in her gut. Along the way, she stepped in a little hole and froze with fear. At that moment she could only giggle silently at herself. Her fear makes her feel like a child, so her laughter allows her to make fun of herself, so she doesn’t feel childish and naive. She stayed close by her friends as they all went along the dark path, and she held his arm tightly. She didn’t know what scared her, but it did, they all knew she could be a real chicken. He took her hand and she felt safe again.
***
On their way back they talked and sang. Under the starry sky they would find their way back. She tried to focus on the trail, the task of reaching “home”. Along the way she slipped and fell. This didn’t scare her as much as it enabled her to let go of fear, and she simply laughed at herself, because it really was funny. There was nothing to be afraid of and she could laugh without anything to worry about.
When they reached the final stretch everything seemed bright again, the tall lights shining down the end of the path. The glistening leaves that rested on the trail reflected the lights, and she was relieved. They ran all the way to the bottom screaming with delight. It was as though she had conquered something, and was in delight over her glory. They got in the car, rolled down the windows, and sang loudly and freely as the wind overtook the car’s insides, blowing in their hair the whole way home. She was so happy, so safe and so unafraid.

Submitted by Sarah Stuart

The Arb

A labyrinth of nature,
Trees create an arched ceiling,
A floor of leaves
Feet sinking into the natural surface
The sluuurp of suction as they quickly pull out of mud
It rained yesterday

Rocky terrain brings a sharp pain to my ankle
Reminding me to watch my step
Looking down
Salty beads blur my eyes
Blindly sprinting ahead

A steady stream of bass pumps through my head
I never run without my music
A pungent smell stings the nostrils
Telling me the end of the path is near
Finally, the rushing of water

A couple stands by the water
His arms envelop her slightly shivering body
Frost hits my throat too
I watch breath turn to steam
Hands raw and red
They fit into my natural sanctuary

Submitted by Jessie Callahan

Nostalgia

the feeling of nostalgia while running through canopy of trees surrounded by deep valleys in the arboretum that I will never return to the place that is so eerily similar...my summer camp.

Flashes of old games of capture the flag on the athletic fields, kayaking with friends on the pristine lake, and masterful games of hide and seek in the lush forests of the Blue Ridge Mountains all suddenly engulf me when all I wanted to do was escape the business of school.

submitted by Carolyn Zale

Minnesotan Woods

The wind and the pine conspire
to mimic the pulsing rush of the sea
as breezes ebb and flow through needled tree.
The forest lifts the surging flow;
through limb and leaf the whisper courses
making sway tall woody posts nearly imperceptibly.

Jay Raymond

Varying degrees of blissfulness.

From Jacob Foster:

For me:
The most amazing concept about nature,
Is how much fun we can have,
Using just a piece of wood and some of “God’s Good Blow”
Or as you may call it snow.
Boarding with the “Buds” is nature at its best.


From Jessica Bertram (Butler University):



From Bill Reith (UofM):



From Terra Bogart (UofM):

Wasatch Front

Earth completes its annual revolution,
winter greets Utah peaks with snow.

The mountains, once bare,
grateful for its timely arrival,
stand together collecting stares.

A wise woman
communing with the heavens,
dressed in a white bonnet,
glinting at the town
tucked neatly in her lap.

A young trekker, posing beside her,
clouds hanging around his mouth,
inhaling cold air once exhaled
by pinion pines.

A well-versed vagabond, rising with the morning light,
spinning around in circles, sun in his eyes,
snow gathering atop his worn, brown hat.

They whisper to each other hallowed secrets of verve,
cleverly disguised in imperial crowns of snow.

dreams, if that's what you call it.

from the one & only Randy Greiner (Univ. of MI) .....

so i have twins. who knows how i got them, but i have them. Now i am changing their diapers and i know after i powder their behinds i have to put raw chicken breasts in their diapers, i dont know why. So, i snort up a chicken breast through my nose and regurgitate it onto my first child's diaper. Shake on a bit of seasoning salt, wrap up the diaper and she is good to go. The second child is not so lucky. The chicken breast is snorted without a hitch, but only a small filet of the breast returns up my throat. SHIT! I am going to die of acute salmonella poisoning. Although my mother did say that in actuality only a small portion of humans are vulnerable to salmonella ... just some big governmental consipracy to keep people from enjoying their snorted chicken raw i guess. who has time to care about that anyway?

Anyway, i guess this has to pertain to nature, so Im driving with my friend Jason from Hong Kong in his black land rover through the mountains of Ann Arbor. He is going about 70 through the brush and the curves are nothing short of treacherous. My friend Lucas in the back seat joins me as we beg jason to please slow down. He turns to me and Lucas, reclines his seat and says, " Relax dudes, ive got this, im asian"... neither of us are the least bit convinced. Surely enough, the next curve in the path derails the SUV and sends us rolling down the hill. Jason and I are thrown from the wreck, but Lucas is not so fortunate. Jason and I presume him dead, but just as we start up the hill he comes running up behind us...screaming in a very unnacceptable, stupid way that just is not appropriate. his thumb was torn off in the wreck.

some poems.

Where have you been all this time?

One tree remembers my dirty feet
pressed firmly on her branches, the way
my grape Kool-Aid colored mouth
fell open as I peered into her canopy.

She was old but never stopped playing.
Watching my arms grow strong enough
to make it to the top.

Fourteen years stood between us until
I decided to return. I went back
and lit a fire on the beach.

Drinking tequila, it could have been
a mirage. My pacing made her dizzy,
after the flame died she watched patiently
as I sifted through the ashes.

terra bogart, university of michigan


(instead of movie, there were train tracks & rocks & lilly pads & daggles of deese)

a rock carves a clean arc;
it drives down deliberately
punching the pond,
it shimmies to the silt.

alexander sebastian pagliere, university of michigan

from the lovely Laura Peterson - U of M