Collected here: what I’m working through, writing toward, or trying to name — whatever won’t leave me alone.
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Early Spring, Seattle
No rush. Just texture and time, and small things that like to be seen.
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The Pumpkin Lord and the Stolen Carrots
Once upon a time, in the cozy little village of Greenleaf, there lived a most terrible, greedy Pumpkin Lord named Grumblegourd. He was the biggest, roundest pumpkin anyone had ever seen, his orange skin ridged like the hills, his scowling face carved deep into his rind.
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The Beauty of Symbiosis: Insects & Flowers in Harmony
Nature speaks in whispers. The flick of a wing, the slow unfurling of a petal, the hum of a body dusted in gold. Pollination is survival wrapped in beauty, an ancient agreement between bloom and insect. Not decoration. Not mere happenstance. But design. Purpose. Life itself.
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Midnight Wraiths
Midnight wraiths shared my campfire, Waiting for my eyes to close, hoping (I assumed) that I might soon expire.
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Fae Aduin
In shadows thick where shadows breed, Fae Aduin writhe and hunt and feed– On dreams unspoken, thoughts half-made, on embers bright and hopes unswayed.
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Drifts
The horses had died hours before, their bodies mounded beneath the relentless onslaught of snow. The man’s grim face turned back to the small clearing where his family waited. He saw their forms huddled near a meager fire, the glow barely piercing the veil of the blizzard.
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Moonlight Picnic
In the shadow of a great snow-capped mountain, far far north where the Western Ranges sweep down and spill into Loc Island Sea, where the air feels rich and full of life and the world seems endless and natural, there lived a little black bear and her mother...
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Wizards
There are little wizards and big wizards, Short wizards, tall wizards, Springtime, summer, winter, and fall wizards.
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Old Hand
Tom Allister rode up the winding trail that led to his father’s mountain ranch. The day had been long, and the sun was beginning its slow descent, slipping away into that unknowable world beyond the horizon. A sky heavy with the weight of coming rain hung overhead, pressing down like the ache of unspoken words.
