the cedar chest

 

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I’ve always just called it the cedar chest but I think it was meant to be a hope chest. The place where a woman gathers her linens and household items in preparation for marriage. Later to become the repository of baby books, dried faded roses and a maribou feather stole worn to prom some fifty years ago. Continue reading

in the middle of moving

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“In the middle of moving” is how the email note started that was from my friend this week.  I’m not sure where the move is to but I am sure that he’ll look up when he lands and steps into lifestyle changes and he’ll find fierce inspiration in all he does. ‘Cause that’s just how he rolls.  Continue reading

catching a look back at me

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My friend is an avid hunter.  Something I’m not.  I don’t deal well with dead animals or the killing of them which makes me a supermarket hunter.

I’ve had talks with my friend about his love of hunting with his pride in providing for his family and pride in the hounorable hunt.  In that I learn of his respect for the animals he hunts as well as an abiding wonder as he sees a herd of elk or bears lumbering across the field below his tree stand or a wild turkey by the side of the road.  And he shares the excitement of watching deer and seeing a moose lift his huge head as he munches soft meadow greens.

My friend tells me of all this.  He sends pictures of the animals he sees as he works in the wilderness of the rocky mountains.  He shares a zen with the wildlife around us and  when he sent me this picture he was in awe of the wildness and depth his camera caught. I like that about him.

Photo Courtesy of Martin Istok