“What We Think We Know” Lunch Ticket. June 2019.
“Just before landing in Los Angeles, when the plane lowered from the sky into the smog, I thought of death. Not of personal death as in his or hers, yours or mine, but of total annihilation. It didn’t seem extraordinary to think that life as I knew it might end during the ten days I would be in L.A., that one of the many apocalypses I’d been promised would actually come, here and now. I felt a perverse sense of satisfaction with the specifics of the smog, like a hungry dog who’d snuck into a bag of Cheetos, gotten his head stuck inside, and died—his last inhale full of his own orange stained emissions.”
“Until Our Dying Day: an ordinary woman’s search for the tallest tree in the world” Boulder Weekly. April 2017.
“To be among the redwoods is a disorienting experience. The massive trunks outsize one’s largest expectations, and hundreds of feet above human heads tree crowns sway in winds that can only be felt at the height of the troposphere. Absorbing our surroundings, we walked mostly in silence, slowly and deliberately.
“Maybe it was the light trickling through the trees as it would through a stained glass window, or the creaking of trunks like church bells, but in the middle of the wood, it occurred to me our souls must be made of wood, too. How else could it resonate so deeply with the forest?”