Now what looks like smoke is only mare’s tails—clouds streaming—and as the season changes, my young dog and I wonder if raindrops might not be shattered lightning. ― Gretel Ehrlich, Islands, the Universe, Home Home (Penguin Books, October 1, 1992)
Autumn teaches us that fruition is also death; that ripeness is a form of decay. The willows, having stood for so long near water, begin to rust. Leaves are verbs that conjugate the seasons.” ― Gretel Ehrlich, The Solace of Open Spaces (Penguin Books, December 2, 1986)
I have always longed to be a part of the outward life, to be out there at the edge of things, to let the human taint wash away in emptiness and silence as the fox sloughs his smell into the cold unworldliness of water; to return to town as a stranger. — J.A. Baker, The… Continue reading J.A. Baker
It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between. — Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses (Random House, 1990)
The Vale of Soul-Making 