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Where The Elk Dream

I drive a short distance up into the western front of the crumpled, arid mountains that always feel like home. From the wide valley floor at seven thousand feet, the squat piñon and fragrant junipers slowly yield to tall ponderosa pines and shimmering aspens that crowd the higher elevations. There, overlooking the endless painted horizon of New

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Where The Worlds Touch: A Larger Story

(This piece was written months ago but never posted. I guess I shared something else that week that seemed more relevant at the time. Friday night, however, this called to me to be offered forward. So be it.) Like the windy night outside, my dreams have been turbulent and unsettling, a murky river swirling as it tumbles down the

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