More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Read between
December 28, 2022 - February 1, 2023
There’s an endless autumn in me,
scenting my thoughts like campfire smoke.
The landscape is not scenery. It’s family. Notice the resemblance.
Our bodies speak of contradiction. Bones and soft tissue. Teeth and lips. Sensitive resilience.
the outdoors changes sadness from a pain to be endured to a state to be experience.
You can’t think your way out of depression any more than you can think your way out of drowning.
And maybe, in the end, we’ll feel it like warm coffee on the tongue,
When an explosion explodes hard enough, dust wakes up and thinks about itself.
Our thoughts echo from an ancient wilderness.
To live is to collect risk like a bee collects nectar. Yet there is hope in fragility.
Our years are seasoning, but the meal is meaning.
It wouldn’t be poetry without you.
The fossil is the stone’s memory of the bones of the animal.
You are a wonderfully messy thing. An impossible thing made of salt and rainwater. Meat and electricity. A dream with teeth.
Our fingers are built more for feeling than fighting.
Truth and fact are sisters, not twins.
This world is not here for us. We are simply fortunate to live here.
