The whole place, built on accident and trajectory,
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.