Spring melt and social meltdown might seem in synchrony this year. Global pandemic, climate crisis, 6th great extinction…while up close and personal, our evenings see us hauling hay and water across rotting snow, or where we must cross the driveway, slogging mud. Not easy, and some might complain.

But really? Last week our first mountain bluebirds arrived, early female scouts not as bright as the one pictured, slipping among brief hatches of soft insects. i can’t find it in me NOT to love spring. Falling down reminds me of being a kid. If no one’s looking, i’ll jump in the mud and listen to it gurgle when my boots try to leave. Spring loves me too, and challenges me to broader perspectives.

Where else are challenges pushing us to love our planet? The expansion of the Gobi Desert can partly be blamed on urban smog; deforestation, overgrazing and water depletion all quicken the pace of desertification, adding to air quality deterioration. Dust storms increase, affecting 5 Asian countries. A cornucopia of toxic pollutants, including heavy metals, viruses, herbicides and more, often accompany the storms. 

By 2014, solar panels covered about three times as much of the Gobi as three years earlier. And by April 2015, according to the International Energy Agency (IEA), China’s capacity from solar panels was over 33 GW. Critically endangered wild Bactrian camels (C. ferus) in the Gobi might benefit from these efforts to cut fossil fuel emissions.

Melting seasons, with all their challenges, carry us into the future.


To study the constituent parts of literary works and thereby understand not just the techniques of creative writers but also the ways their works act upon us as readers…no doubt that study will reveal worthy elements of interest. As with anything, i suspect these elements provide only partial glimpses at a supremely layered truth. To layer meaning upon the mysteries of narrative, to taste the emotive power of art–read literary works with an openness to your own response. Sure, a doctor can tell you that humid air is better for a person living with a harsh cough, but only once you’re out with the hound walking through gray air, its moisture painting your forehead, will you understand this healing. In a way that doesn’t stop at the back of your throat, but which seeps deeper, much closer to your heart.

Through their poetry, contributing authors…explore the beautiful and painful truths of what it means to be divinely human and how we love, fall and rise again.

An anthology of poetry gathered by S.E. Reichert, author of The Beautiful Stuff Blog, includes layers from different perspectives, offered to readers from different experiences as gifts to help us embrace our creaturely selves, and each other. Two of my recent poems are included, drops in this vast ocean of sound, smell and touch.

Low-impact Travel

Like good ole flying Dumbo the elephant, i imagine if i had these ears, my travels would entail no fossil fuels, no greenhouse gas emissions. i wandered across info about this endangered little creature at a website called EDGE. The EDGE of Existence program focuses on threatened species that represent unique evolutionary histories. The long-eared jerboa of Mongolia, like that desert’s Bactrian camel, bears the uneasiness of fitting the criteria. This intriguing rodent is the only member of its subfamily, Euchoreutina. A shout out here to Russian photographer Valeriy Maleev, a CNN Wildlife Photographer of the Year (2019), whose work inspired me to ‘travel’ the web for news of this little planetary companion, so far away.

At the Edge website, i also ‘met’ a conservationist named Madhushri, or Maddie, currently studying an Indian dancing frog with an EDGE fellowship. She promotes the many values of travel, with an emphasis on ethical ecotourism. She blogs at Girl Gone Birdzz, and i was inspired–out of the blue–to write her, a small recognition of her passion and its worth to the world. On this day celebrating ‘love’ one choice is to connect with a stranger whose values you honor and whose work you can help ripple into this one world we all love, together.


A short story called Bull was just awarded an Honorable Mention in Cutthroat: a journal of the arts ( It will be published in an upcoming issue. These are always beautifully put together, with stories i’ve admired, and i am honored to have my work in such a quality endeavor.

The story features an Appaloosa mare named Pia, who helps her person, Milo, be both more courageous and more creative. Theirs is an eco-prankster tale that was my rewritten version of several disturbing bits of actual news. C’mon people, let’s practice turning some of the bad news around!

Resistance writing

SE Reichert generously shares her public writing space at The Beautiful Stuff blog to help other writers reach new readers, and to help her readers discover new writers. This is a poem i first read at a small gathering in Howth, Ireland, in response to a challenge from author Breena Clarke to follow our readings of resistance literature with some writing of our own.

Reichert also finds–somehow, without fail–the most wonderful illustrations for her posts. A visual feast, in keeping with the title of her blog. So dig in and read deep beyond today’s offering for some soul sustenance.


Remember spelling bees? When we were taught that knowing the CORRECT spelling of things was one of the world’s great skills? The competition, the drama, the suspense. i remember asking and asking for the word jewelry to be repeated…because as a voracious reader, my memory also held the word in its British version, jewellery. WRONG!

i’m so glad that texting has loosened up our spelling again, offering creativity to our simple daily exchanges. Lewis and Clark expressed in their various spellings the myriad ways that the West of this continent opened their eyes to so many plants, creatures, cultures.

Yesterday i took a potter friend out for a loop through the mountain colors. So many shades of red and orange and yellow, with all the shades of green still working their contrasts among them. The swirl of variety energized us in some inexplicable way, and as usual i found myself trying to inhale that vibrancy, sucking it deep into every cell.

As the nights lengthen, i’ve been doing the same with my reading. From Dinaw Mengestu (All the Beautiful Things Heaven Can Bear) to Ali Smith (How to Be Both) to Thomas King (Medicine River), Patrick Lawler (The Meaning of If), John Gardner (Grendel). Narrative voices that range from snarky to 15th century artisanal, poetic, purposefully disjointed, sharply wry. Voices that encourage a variety in how i approach my own work–that allow for experiments in creative XtaC.

Stars on Earth

Never a good idea to drive too long without stepping out and stretching, right? Recently i wandered through some red sandy trails organized by a coalition of hikers, mountain bikers and horse folk that provided a welcome homecoming to earth after many hours encased in my not-so-gleaming metal.

And nested on the ground in front of me, near the top of the first ridge, a treasure, a mystery, a goad to study up on everything from mythology to mycology. Earth Star, the voice in my head clamored, like a kid in school jumping up and down with a hand in the air.

So little i knew, though, beyond that echoing name. Earth stars can be either Geastrum fungi or Astraeus, very different critters though with similar outer appearances and life strategies. Both have many more species than long suspected. The original Astraeus were all considered hygrometricus, the barometer earth star, famous for opening their rays when wet, then curling back up over the spore-bearing stomach. The Geastrum typically open once and stay that way. As the fungi split open, the rays can push these fruiting bodies up high enough to break free of their underground mycelia, allowing them to wander the earth. They may go in search of a non-fungal partner, since some of them connect in an ectomycorrhizal relationship with living plants, performing interesting ecological tasks such as dune stabilization.

Astraea, a Greek goddess who got fed up with the many ways people were ruining the planet, spends her days now as the constellation Virgo, far from our chaos. To understand her best, you should remember that virgins were women who didn’t need anyone else, and the word is associated with strength, force, skill. The bits of her still scattered across the earth thrive with their intriguing adaptation for movement. Let these stars on earth move your imagination too–to adapt, to thrive.


The Acoustic Burro is all ears–unless she has something to bray about.

Take a walk with her this afternoon and your ears might prick up too.

Somewhere in the sky, a winnowing.

Winnow: from the late 14th century, Old English windwian “to fan, winnow,” from wind “air in motion, paring down.” Cognate with Old Norse vinza, Old High German winton “to fan, winnow,” Gothic diswinþjan “to throw (grain) apart.” Small wonder, if it relates to grain, that the burro is interested.

At the moment, however, the sound comes from a small bird, throwing (probably) himself (sometimes herself) into the air. A small marsh bird, alternatively described as pudgy, stocky or round-bodied, with relatively short legs for a wading creature. Not all of us can be svelte and stilty. But not everyone can sing with her tailfeathers either, which is the magic of this winnowing.

You can impress your fellow walkers with this intriguing fact, and its appropriate if odd verb form: Wilson’s snipe creates its most distinctive sound as it swoops in shallow dives, high in the pale sky overhead. The tail fans out, the wind catches the edges of specially-designed feathers, and voila! The snipe winnows.

Like listening for the muses, you have to be paying attention. Your own jaws are preferably, closed–and not chewing loudly either. Neither the snipe nor our creativity are electronically modified. In these posts, we will wander on our Acoustic Burro exploring how the world’s stories are generated, transmitted or received. The snipe’s story is just the beginning. Enjoy the ride–


“Story places” show up on my home page because characters all gotta be somewhere. My stories all start with place and the other characters derive from that, so the buzz around the idea that setting might be a character always baffles me. Who characters are in a story is where they are–and how they are in relationship to that place.

Stories for me, and setting to me, are also about more than people, and more than a scenic backdrop. Other-than-human characters express their agency, and demonstrate their connectedness. Despite assertions that fiction is about people, i’ve never felt limited to human people. So in my front page ‘”Story Places” section, you’ll see pikas and great blue herons as well as frozen Minnesota lakes and sculptured New Mexico badlands and even petroglyph characters.

Food for thought, i suppose. Pull up a chair–i’d love to hear your side of the discussion.