After   a  while  the   500-year-old   village  became    a  secret, carved  into  the wall of the forest where it  met    the  Pacific, eleven  long   houses   and  their  racks   of   drying  fish,  their dogs.  No  roads  to  this town, only boats and the memory of boaters.  Blankets  made  from  woodpecker … [Read More]

Once when I was in the forest a letter came. That summer I held trees by the throat with one hand and sawed with the other. I was on a trail crew. At night I lay beside a boy who chewed the neck of his shirt until it scalloped open. We were cutting a path… [Read More]