The Romance of the Road

I’ve hopped the Divide and traveled south of home, landing in Gunnison for a few weeks of concentrated writing, trading five consecutive weeks of winter storm warnings for a rolling sage brush chaparral. From the bench where I write, I can see across the valley through floor to ceiling windows to watch cars speeding toward Mt. Carbon and Crested Butte. The highway groans with restless hearts, I think, as I imagine people in their private…

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Fire Season in America

“I know what the world is made of and I still love all of it” –The Solace of Open Spaces Sixteen years ago, my mountain cabin burned to the ground. In a matter of hours, all evidence of the life I’d lived—signed and annotated books; photos of me at five, eight, fifteen; a broadside gifted to me by the poet and writer Kate Braverman with a spontaneous poem she’d written on it—was reduced to two…

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The Winged Life

  He who binds himself to a joy Does the winged life destroy He who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sunrise.                —-William Blake   I’ve been pining. Every day, I wake and think of some distant thing to lash myself too:  PR events related to the paperback release of Rough Beauty (radio and print interviews, new website and blog, readings); an end of summer…

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