September 4, 2026
Two centipedes rise from their earthen cell, Poisoned fangs extend, long red bodies writhe in knotted twist…
August 25, 2026
Rather, wilderness silence serves as an open gate, allowing the other sounds — those most often covered by city noise — to be heard, to enter our stream of consciousness, to be questioned or interpreted and, above all, to be appreciated.
August 15, 2026
May you walk through the woods and hear bird song.
May you feel a sweet breeze that ruffles your hair.
May foxes and bees cross your path as you walk,
May peace fill your heart as you dream.
July 30, 2026
The moths have stopped circling the porch light, their wings now are as stiff as old letters. The night stretches thin — a slow dissolve of indigo into nothing…
June 25, 2026
A few minutes into my walk, something caught my eye, and I stopped. Just ahead, two or three feet away, three butterflies hovered over the path…
May 16, 2026
Come play with the saiga, mustangs, and bobcats in the latest issue of the MockingOwl Roost: Wide, Wild World. Every story, every poem, every essay wanders the world with curiosity with wildlife encounters, stunning scenery, and invigorating delight...
May 9, 2026
Threatened habitats resulting from burgeoning human population. What happens when trees are felled, and forest spaces are cleared?
April 24, 2026
I carved a heart you swallowed in bark
not out of hunger,
but ritual.
Every autumn you let go
more easily than I do.
Every spring,
you grew further from the boy who named you.
April 20, 2026
April 12, 2026
A sneeze hangs in the air like a threat,
while the oak tree chuckles in yellow confetti.
My car wears a coat of guilty dust,
proof of spring's indecent proposal.
March 20, 2026
It is the middle of March
and a five-foot evergreen tree
lays flat on top of a garbage container.
March 10, 2026
Bleak midwinter is on the wane. Frosty winds with milder wafts
fan iron-hard earth to coax stone-cold waters into a thaw.