I’m not sure why but I keep imagining this man made of lava rising out of the shield of my unconscious each time I try to review this past weekend for writing material I’ll use to sort of reach back for the me who’s been burned time and time again and lift him up into…
Eating With My Shaman
In this photo of my grandmother standing in the woods in fall, which I think my father took to characterize his mother as an ancient guardian woman of the forest, she stands in the distance all stoic and surrounded by orange fallen leaves and skeleton branches holding a long stick that looks like a spear.…
Self in a Baseball Cap
Looking down on myself from up on high it’s not hard to wonder if there’s a trope for this me who’s walking out the door, stepping down off the curb, crossing the street, and pulling his baseball cap over his eyes. There are hemlocks and weeds dividing the curb I’m walking on from various households,…
Chris Russell 
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