I really do believe if there is hope in the world, then it is to be found within our own communities with our own neighbors, and within our own homes and families.

The human heart is the first home of democracy.

I think my heart breaks daily living in Salt Lake City, Utah. But I still love it. And that is the richness, the texture.

Revolution is not something outside of us, but inside us, begging for our engagement every single day.

Beauty is transformed over time, and not without destruction.

I speculate over some of the Anglo nomenclature of birds: Wilson's snipe, Forster's tern . . . : What natural images do these names conjure up in our minds? What integrity do we give back to the birds with our labels.

Having lived in Utah all of my life, I can tell that in many ways I know of no place more lonely, no place more unfamiliar. When I talk about how it is both a blessing and a burden to have those kinds of roots, it can be terribly isolating, because when you are so familiar, you know the shadow.