Tag Archives: Issaquah Alps

The number 4 airshaft seam to Primrose Mine

I woke at 4, fell back to sleep until 5, then dreamt again and got up. If dreams can be categorized the same as data (unstructured, structured, or semi-structured), then mine qualify as ‘semi-.’  I got to the trailhead early … Continue reading

Posted in identity, musings, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

“Send it off in a letter to yourself”

In the morning my eyes were puffy and my hair askance, and I went to Starbucks like that for a cold brew. I said skip the ice, I just need the caffeine — the woodpecker woke me up again. And … Continue reading

Posted in hiking, humor, identity, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , | 27 Comments

‘Where the shadows run from themselves’

I got back in the slot, the cafeteria salad bar at work, tonged some shredded carrots, spinach, diced beets…made a modest bird’s nest out of it, weighed it, scanned my card, picked a two-top by the windows and started in. … Continue reading

Posted in musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

Most of them witches

In the manner of my mom’s partner Eberhard I held my head under the hand sink and let the cold water run over me and down my torso as I stood and grunted, examined myself and got dressed. It makes … Continue reading

Posted in musings, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 26 Comments

Possibility of ground collapse or fatal gases

I got up as the moon was going down, and back along the icy trails of Cougar Mountain we went, my dog Ginger and I. After I peed she peed in the same spot, like we were playing some game … Continue reading

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Snow-covered mineshaft grate

I took the 900 around the back side of Cougar Mountain, but it doesn’t get much direct light this time of year and the road was icy in early morning, with snow on the trees still—and when Ginger and I … Continue reading

Posted in prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 25 Comments

Down the end of Clay Pit road

Matted down forest floor, now the leaves have lost their shape and rotting with the rest, the color wicked out no longer distinct, not worth saving in a book. Gray light in the forest, the branches the color of bone, … Continue reading

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments