October sharpens sunlight to a glint and obliges the eye to longer shadows. There is fire in the death of things and I am dry as dread. The hailstorms of August stripped chokecherry and currant bare of fruit. An injured deer is stalked by two young coyote. The liquored old man that lives across the […]
Field Notes on Faith and the First World
Exploring depths previously unsounded in oneself, as best one may.
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
Supporting ways of being that are life-giving and sustainable for people, communities and the planet.
Believes everyone has a story to tell.
James Scott Smith 