Today we are aware as never before of the plurality of human life-styles and possibilities, while at the same time being tied, like in an old silent movie, to a runaway locomotive rushing headlong toward a very singular catastrophe

Burning the small dead branches broke from beneath thick spreading whitebark pine. A hundred summers snowmelt rock and air hiss in a twisted bough.

Wildness It is perennially within us, dormant as a hard-shelled seed, awaiting the fire or flood that awakes it again.

Nature is orderly. That which appears to be chaotic in nature is only a more complex kind of order.

Zen aims at freedom but its practice is disciplined.

My Grandmother standing wordless fifteen minutes Between rows of loganberries, clippers poised in her hand.

Wildness is not just the "preservation of the world," it is the world