The Wild Muse

wildness, wonder, and the spirit of place


Telling People

Who to vote for – my vote
My assurance
I count
Don’t discount your word
It speaks my language
Tell me what I should believe
While you are living on your knees
Because it serves you
Tell those who ride the train
To pass by with a smile
In your hood
Because it matters to you
They be polite
Don’t eat
Our goals
With your wine
Don’t forget
You are on the land who never called you child
Or made you weep
Do it … honey, put it down
Don’t tell people who to maim or reward
Because we all must bathe
In the same pool
Of blood
We believe our skin
A little cleaner now
By telling
The truth like it is truth
With white chalk
On black boards
With no heaven
We say, you have no right to choose
We, these featherless birds
Waiting behind wire
For release


It Began Here…

It began here, my desire for this place. The course of its existence ran through me – an energy to move a woman 2,000 miles from the shores of Lake Ontario, the fierce shield of granite and water, to a place of obsidian and sky.


Eight years ago, standing on the edge of old Route 66, I watched clouds pass across the cobalt. I could not remain in my old life. The hard edges of the city pushed me into these skies so vast. No amount of squinting could help me to discern what’s beyond the tall grasses and deep canyons. But I knew I had to find out.


Soft definition is what I sought; a place where I could be as lucent as abandoned buildings, yet as full as the chambers of my heart.

To be filled with movement… I desired the poetry of pulse and breath.


To come here meant I could fly into whatever scene I wanted; to be as mutable and impelling as the clouds drifting through the valley. I craved this story. And, the beautiful thing about story isn’t the story itself, but what you can leave out.


I choose to erase

the details of

my desire for this place.

Some things need to move through. Across dry creeks and coyote tracks, there are only traces, and a place to pick up and start walking again.