Dear Climate Activist Apologetically Taking a Break

All that ‘self-care’ blabber isn’t just about keeping yourself from getting burnt out; it’s also about making yourself strong. And soft. Go soften. Stare off without thoughts. Watch a slug move across the forest floor. Or contemplate all those thoughts in your head at once—while staring at the Milky Way.

Wild Grace: Saving Species Is More Possible Than We Think

As we watched each other with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, I wondered if the ancient stories of half-human creatures first came from reports of long-lost beings that once went extinct—or from the desperate hopes of mankind as we first began to want to become anything but human. 

Revenge-Travel Blues: Movement in a Post-Pandemic World

It occurs to me not for the first time that the era that allowed me to travel and even root myself in so many homes has now cost me the ability to ever return to them in the true sense of the word. Every year between visits increases the odds that the landscape I knew will be changed— whether by fires, floods, and droughts, or by noise, gentrification, and increasing swarms of humans seeking a piece of the “off the beaten path” before it’s gone.

Hungry for This (a forest story)

Eloi is no scientist, but he’s a farmer and he can understand that the planet breathes. He’s seen the dead butterflies. He can understand that the trees around him cool the planet in far-off places where he’s heard there exist mountains made of pure ice.

What Remains: Reflections on Climate, Home & Hope

Despite the improbability of any of us ever meeting anywhere back in the “real world,” we all float together now amidst the rice stalks - bonded by a fierce, desperate love for the world we’ve been watching wilt our entire lives, and contemplating what these wetlands could look like in the years to come if we lose this next battle.

Sojourner (a migration story)

They say home is where the heart is, in which case you’re not home. That home is gone. The parents are gone. The house is gone. Most everyone you knew is gone.

Outside

Eye contact becomes language as lips disappear, leaving only eyebrows over pools of so-much-to-say welling up on the inside. Outside, the Earth breathes. Outside, the hen still clucks in the garden and today, the way the sunlight bounced off the green watering can, her tiny fingers and gaptoothed smile as… OutsideRead more

Mending

Grandma used to snack on sweet onions she kept in her purse,alongside society’s disposables—napkins, bread-bag ties,safety pins she turned into jewelry, or magazine picturesshe framed with bits of lace that I’d hang on my wall,next to the rock-band posters, back in the days when I thought success was measured in… MendingRead more