The owl rides the meadow at his hunting hour. The fox clears out the pheasants and the partridges in the cornfield. Jupiter rests above Antares, and the fall moon hooks itself into the prairie sod. A dark wind flows down from Mandan as the Indians slowly move out of the summer campground to go back to the reservation. Aries, buck of the sky, leaps to the outer rim and mates with earth. Root and seed turn into flesh. We turn back to each other in the dark together, in the short days, in the dangerous cold, on the rim of a perpetual wilderness. 
      - Meridel Le Sueur, The Ancient People and the Newly Come

. . . just last week I met Meridel Le Sueur in Taos, New Mexico. She is a writer in her eighties who has written several novels, short stories, poetry books. She said she lives nowhere now. She visits people, stays in their homes, and writes wherever she is. She just came from California, where she visited her daughter, and was now going to stay with friends in Taos and write there. She asked if there was a place she could purchase an old manual typewriter for about thirty dollars. After she finishes with it, she’ll give it away, as she does in each place she visits, so she doesn’t have to lug it with her to her next destination. So much for writing studios!
- Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down The Bones

Visit here for the Heron Dance page on Meridel Le Sueur, a fascinating person and writer.

Below, the mockup of this page in my upcoming book, Meditations on Nature: The Beauty of Wild Places, as well as some other pages added this week.