How would it be to have no wild places left to go?
I WAKE TO heavy snow bending the little toyon bush outside the window. My throat tightens. I easily feel trapped — me, a woman who once felt terrified by the huge spaces of the Southwestern deserts. I put water to boil for coffee, pull on my boots, and go to the car.
There are decades of Up-State New York winter driving in my brain and hands. I bully and seduce the blue Vibe out of its parking space and up the long slope of the driveway to the curb. I sit for a few minutes to let my heart slow. If walking solo in wild places is your sustenance, you might know how trapped some can feel in town.
Keep reading.

How would it be to have no wild places left to go?

I WAKE TO heavy snow bending the little toyon bush outside the window. My throat tightens. I easily feel trapped — me, a woman who once felt terrified by the huge spaces of the Southwestern deserts. I put water to boil for coffee, pull on my boots, and go to the car.

There are decades of Up-State New York winter driving in my brain and hands. I bully and seduce the blue Vibe out of its parking space and up the long slope of the driveway to the curb. I sit for a few minutes to let my heart slow. If walking solo in wild places is your sustenance, you might know how trapped some can feel in town.

Keep reading.