Writings

He presses the side of his once-famous face hard against the warm velvet of the giant sequoia, breathing the scent of eons of growth and struggle, feeling the basin and range of the bark against the length of his out-flung arms, his widest stretch embracing only a tiny span of the epic circumference.

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I just got back from a week at the cabin that I have gone to for the past darn near twenty years. It is my little piece of heaven, the reward that motivates me. When things get tough throughout the year, I remind myself that no matter what’s happening, whatever is stressing me out or pissing me off, I will be at Salmon Lake in the fall, and the thought keeps me going. It is the carrot that dangles in front of this particular donkey.

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