Refuge
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The owls had staked their territory just beyond one of the bends in the Bear River. Whenever I drove to the Bird Refuge, I stopped at their place first and sat on the edge of the road and watched. They would fly around me, their wings sometimes spanning two feet. Undulating from post to post, they would distract me from their nest. Just under a foot long, they have a body of feathers the color of wheat, balanced on two long, spindly legs. They can burn grasses with their stare. Yellow eyes magnifying light.
―Terry Tempest Williams
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Poem: Please Call Me By My True Names
Poem: At the Un-National Monument along the Canadian Border
Poem: [i thank you God for most this amazing]
Poem: 44th Birthday Evening, at Harris’s
Poem: Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening
Poem: Dividend of the Social Opt Out
Poem: The Last Things I’ll Remember
Poem: In the space where there is nothing
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What’s your refuge?