That it’s rough out there and chancy is no surprise. Every live thing is a survivor on a kind of extended emergency bivouac.

I came down to the water to cool my eyes. But everywhere I look I see fire; that which isn’t flint is tinder, and the whole world sparks and flames.

If we are blinded by darkness, we are also blinded by light.

All that summer conceals, winter reveals.

I’m getting used to this planet and to this curious human culture which is as cheerfully enthusiastic as it is cheerfully cruel.

That the insects have adapted is obvious. Their failures to adapt, however, are dazzling.

The calendar, the weather, and the behavior of wild creatures have the slimmest of connections. Everything overlaps smoothly for a only a few weeks each season, and then it all tangles up again.

On that cedar tree shone, however briefly...