A short midsummer night’s post. Back in 2017, I wrote about three musicians who climbed to the top of a
This month we look at Sita Brahmachari’s novel Where the River Runs Gold (Waterstones, July 2019), which takes place in an everyland, according to
Moist earth cascading through nimble fingers. A melody enhanced by the spicy fragrance of lemongrass and turmeric remnants
lingering on dew-kissed skin.
Content joy radiates from the pair of us, eager to absorb the
nestled in Green mountains.
We are the lucky few.
Fortunate to not have been uprooted in disarray
Spring blossomed and
we never lost trust.
We never learned not to touch or to inhale through masked fabric
Isolation symbolized our boundless expansion of being still,
Cloaked now in misty fog cityscape, I remember the freedom of our lungs
in the refuge we built.
— Imara-rose Glymph (San Francisco, California)
Happy summer to those of you in the Northern Hemisphere, and happy winter to those of you in the South.
Selecting “offset your flights” always felt too easy. How could I ever comprehend my carbon emissions, flying Canberra-Singapore-New York, premium economy return, for a business trip?
That’s 9.9 tonnes of CO₂e.
15 Eucalyptus viminalis seedlings to sequester one tonne.
149 trees. Two full days’ planting: the land’s degraded and drought’s made it dry. Now they’ve just got to be looked after — for the next hundred years. If there are no more really bad bushfires. Which there almost certainly will be.
Just for one traveller… one trip… that next time I’ll insist it be done via videoconference.
— Adam Sébire (Craigie, Australia)
This month in Persistent Acts, I reflect on my growth since the development and production of my undergraduate thesis in
Writer Elizabeth Rush returns with good news. Her book Rising: Dispatches from the New American Shore has garnered awards. It
This month we travel to the Niger Delta, and I am thrilled to talk with Helon Habila, the mind behind
All of us connected in our not-knowing, in our common, drastically-uncommon plight. Our questions are many, many more than our answers, our breaths more dearly counted. The bright lights of my friends and family are further off, yet closer to my heart. Nature is my most constant familiar, my salvation.
Will we emerge from these strange days of disease joyfully opening our wings of freedom or will they be bound tightly to our bodies by fear or ordinance? Many of us will be much older then and many of us will have grown much younger. Merlins and baby butterflies.
— Sherilyn Wolter (Princeville, Hawaiʻi)
This month I have the great pleasure of speaking with Colin Foord, a marine biologist and artist in Miami who,