At the Interface by Renée E. D’Aoust
“At the Interface” by Renée E. D’Aoust “Catch fire, move on.” —Gary Snyder, Turtle Island If it all went up in flames, what would I do? Before her right hand shriveled to a claw, Mom tilled soil around her son’s Paradise lily. Once my brother, then a flower. Mom carried on, weeding with her left. What would I do, if the log cabin burned down? The oregano patch round the house should be defensible...
Keep Calling My Name: Frogs, Circles and Climate Change by Jocelyn Edelstein
“Keep Calling My Name: Frogs, Circles and Climate Change” by Jocelyn Edelstein On a sticky evening in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, I sat behind a tripod, peering at the screen of a small HD camcorder as my friend and his mom let me interview them about life, dance and surviving in Brazil on a very limited income. My friend, who I’d known since he was a skinny 18-year-old boy wearing oversized...
There’s No Place Like Home by Rebecca Hart Olander
“There’s No Place Like Home” by Rebecca Hart Olander Finding the screech owl holed up below the canopy of the spindle tree, auburn feather fist in austere bark, my father suggests we turn back for binoculars. I had never seen a daylight owl, only heard the dusky cries, feeling as mice must, quivering in a field beneath wing-blotted stars. Through doubled glass we focus on the russet bird, casting her as an...
Vanishing Point by Melissa Grossman
“Vanishing Point” by Melissa Grossman It is not miles ahead of you where the road narrows. It is not a mountaintop covered by low clouds. Nor, the columns of trees that grow smaller farther down the street. It is a gam of whales swimming just below the shimmering surface of the ocean, and you are whale, and you are water. It is that cloudless blue sky when birds disappear into the deep brightness, and you are...
At Butcher’s Slough by Simona Carini
“At Butcher’s Slough” by Simona Carini (Arcata Marsh & Wildlife Sanctuary) No ducks ply the slough No great egrets glide. Wrung out clouds pattern the marsh in light ink. Air as crisp as cave-cooled watermelon. Silence ambushes me in this quiet place of still water, wood pilings— remains of a mill— an old railway track. If my worries could ride away! My lungs catch a scent I am an egret sensing fish just...
Does the sea remember everything? I wonder.
Does she absorb everything? Does she keep it safe?
Virginia Woolf
. . .
The Q: Can you fathom the spectacle that would be created if we moved together, arms outstretched, close enough to touch?
The Q: What echoes through you that longs to take form—a poem, an image, a mark, a whisper of becoming?
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fathoms Feb 28, 2026 -
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