Though I might be deemed "social" by a panel of experts, I've grown used to the heavy silences of rural life, sparkling at times, thick with bird song or crickets; or predatory, as in sudden downpours of pelting weather, not warm…

My friend told me it would look like a driveway but if I turned in on the hairpin by the mailbox & drove over the wooden bridge, I'd see a metal gate, and the acres owned by the state, managed by a couple brothers named "Orvis"…

Things pop into your head…

Here at the end of goldenrod, shouldering a seismic weight that glitters & fades in the fields, she moves seamlessly from fullness of summer, to the torpor that pulls everything down…

It started with a flat tire this morning, & the good fortune of having a compressor on site, and a friend who took on the task of figuring out a Chevy Silverado tire change…

It's called "The White" but I'm not sure why…

When I open my eyes, the slant of light tells me it's not yet 6…

She sang about the dragon mother, launched onto Cameron's path, in the filtered sunlight of summer…

My keys were missing the next morning, after pizza night…

I remember pacing the 20 feet, thinking about a small building, a warming shed for XC-skiers, while winter raged outside…

It all goes by so fast. Even "the before it blooms" stage is like a blink, and then the blossom is gone…

The road to Hanksville is closed, on the Appalachian Gap side, for bridge repair…

I don't know what's wrong with the Kubota's 4WD but it couldn't get me to the upper garden, so I switched back to 2WD…

When the cat threw up on my pedal board case, I thought: I'm done with this…

I don't suppose it's revealing too much to say that when I got home, I found that someone had made this sign for me and stuck it prominently into the muddy lawn…

Why is it that most of the affordable used sinks are laying behind outbuildings, up towards St. Albans?

Without knowing, I passed the house, drove uphill on wicked washboard-corrugated dirt, wishing I'd switched to 4WD earlier…

The little dog stops in the rain…

We stare at the high rise outhouse, rain dripping off its metal roofing, standing in a quiet forest glade connected by fairy paths…

For those who’ve witnessed concrete being mixed and sent down the chute of a concrete truck, you’ll know the satisfaction of seeing it hit its mark, oozing over a grid of rebar as it fills the form…