The original meaning of the word “journey” is rooted in Old French journee, which meant “a day’s length; day’s work or travel.” Farther back in time, “journey” arose from the Latin diurnus “of one day.” Journey these days means going someplace. This can be an outer physical place, or an inner emotional place, or a spiritual place which can be a combination of the two, one or the other, or a realm that only you access. A journey can consist of all of these elements at once, each separately, or together in various combinations. I like to think of journey in the…
Author: Jenny
One Photo, One Short Story
Recently, I set myself the task to write a story about the accompanying photo in fifty words. Turns out, the story ended at forty-nine words (the title “Look” is included in the word count.) It is intriguing to give yourself a word limit for a piece, then stick with it. During the process, all becomes distilled; thoughts and words. Look November. Northern Plains of Montana. Winter’s stalk, damascus-sharp, and dismal edged penetrates the air. The scent, a raw mainline of dead leaves. I take a picture of skeleton trees, the gilt glow of grasses and sage against the amber light…
The Forging of Horseshoes
As a departure from what normally appears here, today I’d like to mention horseshoes. Some of you may not be aware that I spent many years as a farrier (horseshoer). Although I no longer practice as a farrier for the public, I continue to provide hoof care for our personal horses. Farriery is intriguing work. Just being around horses is the best aspect. I love the physicality of it, too. Working beneath the horse requires flexibility, strength, the use of just about my entire body as well as the acute use of my mind and an exquisite feel for the…
Trees of My Life II
From immense, solid Ponderosa pines to ephemeral, whippy willows, trees are intriguing. My first tree memory is a huge, many branched cottonwood tree that grew in front of the old homesteader’s house where my family lived when I was small. Her bark was a grey rough corrugated coat she wore. Her leaves were enormous serrated wide triangles with a sharp point that murmured bright green all summer long. In September, her leaves metamorphasized into golden lemon yellow. Bossy autumn winds parted the leaves from her, and they swirled through the clear glow of the air to earth. The final magic…
Learning to Write Landscape and My Primal Place
On a recent August evening, my writing friend Carol and I hurried into Paulina Springs Books in Sisters, Oregon. We were there to attend a writing workshop by author and poet Joe Wilkins. Earlier that day I had looked through his website and noticed he had grown up in Montana. Then, I was even more eager to go to the workshop, just to be in proximity of a fellow Montanan. The workshop was titled “Layers of Landscape: Harnessing the Power of Place.” To say we were intrigued by the title was an understatement. I’ve been scribbling away about the landscape…
Sagebrush: A 100 Word Story
Most of us have heard the phrase that “a picture tells a 1000 words.” Here is a picture that tells a story in 100 words. 100 words exactly, counting the title. I appreciate hearing your thoughts. Sagebrush I might have been born under a sagebrush. New eyes open to an overhead sapphire haze. Closer, furry elongated gilt grey-green leaves on shrubby, woody stems form a mosaic of vision. My tiny hand brushes the gently rounded tri-tipped leaves. Sharp scent rains down. Piquant. Pristine. Sage-y. Of the vast, moody lands in the American West I adore. I roll side to side…