—Alice Tisdale Hobart in The Cleft Rock, 1948. Photo by Songquan Deng
At the same time the different falls have as different characters; the first darting down the slate-rock like an arrow; the second spreading out like a fan—the third dashed into a mist—and the one on the other side of the rock a sort of mixture of all of these. We afterward moved away a space, […]
— Doubling Back: ten paths trodden in memory by Linda Cracknell, Freight Books, 2014.
Photo by Goran Bogicevic
A wind has come up, alive and rustling in the reed canary grass. It soughs in the pines on the knoll above the Reedgrass Pool. The evening wind is their common voice, but the pines and grasses have distinctive tongues. I look up at the pines’ black silhouettes and see that these trees hold hands […]
I sit, taking notes as long as I can see, and then go up to the saddle. The wind is fierce cross the twenty-foot gap, this hiatus in the rock, but somehow it’s the right wind. Up here it is fitting that there is wind, keeping open the slot in the wall, charging through, honing […]