a literary journal published by the Black Earth Institute dedicated to re-forging the links between art and spirit, earth and society
Summer rest is communal −
the hum of a neighbor mowing makes naps on a hammock sweet,
and crickets under twigs lull those on their evening walks.
Fall dying can be beautiful −
brisk winds and creaking wood sing of life in unseen places,
and the deep bass which ushers in death like a foghorn knows no improvisation.
Winter’s comfort is not complex −
warmth knows no bounds when coats cover flesh as snow covers concrete,
and a thistled winter is no match for the crackling wood of a fire.
Spring refreshes −
the hidden wren was only sleeping and not dead,
and as she zips and sings, the smell of fresh bark and dandelions fill her lungs.
Natalie Albertson recently graduated with her master’s degree in English from Iowa State University. She recently moved to Iowa City, Iowa with her husband Justin. She blogs at nataliealbertson.com, drinks an unnatural amount of coffee, and dreams of one day owning a samoyed dog.