Ponderings on the Sweet Screams of the Woodhouse Toads by Phia Swart
As I sit writing this the waning gibbous just less than full rises gold in the East, fighting through a haze of clouds. We are expecting storms but rain in
Sarah Bartz: Valuing the Intrinsic in an Instrumental Valued World
I sit on the shore of Lake Powell. My wristwatch reads 6:16 pm, the sun is creeping below the horizon, and the warmth of the day is still tickling my