I want to write my way from the margins to the center. I want to speak
the language of the grasses, rooted yet soft and supple in the presence
of wind before a storm. I want to write in the form of migrating geese
like an arrow pointing south toward a direction of safety. I want to
keep my words wild so that even if the land and everything we hold dear
is destroyed by shortsightedness and greed, there is a record of
participation by those who saw what was coming. Listen. Below us. Above us. Inside us. Come. This is all there is." Terry Tempest Williams, from Red: Passion and Patience in the Desert
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Every word a singing pebble...