Summer across the roof of California


The whole place, built on accident and trajectory,

not deliberation;

rhythms of lighting mirror themselves, a million years before.


There has never been a time when I have not known this place.

More so than the maps I pour over, the names and networks of these living narratives

have always represented the baseline with which I reach out to the rest of my own existence.


My own brand of natural history study is a dance in the mirror.

I don’t generalize myself; I don’t subtract feeling from experiment;

I take the time for minor exception; I am fascinated by individualization over generalization.

More where art lives than science.


On top of the mountainous prism;

separated into cut colors;

core pillars in the cooling light, I got hearts for eyes for days.


Life is not fragile, although its temporal forms may appear to be;

we are surrounded by the winners in the long, tedious game of evolution.

The study of naturalism is the study of a network of abiding resilience and endless forms of stamina-based,

frugal modes of ingenious, preserving, survival strategies.


After a few days, when cities become oddities and tonight’s camp settles into the home it has always been,

when each piece of equipment becomes a treasured object in my collection,

I forever find the thing I miss most and remember best is the laughter of friends.