At the Edge of Hope Kersten Christianson I want to pen a note about spring. Not the dead alder, rain after rain after rain despair of it, but the rose gold sheen of storm having passed, dissipating at the knife-sharp edge of outer coast where blue herons and mallards frequent the estuary’s ebb and flow. I want the medicine of tender greens the tangle of blooming branch, squall of cherry blossoms adrift under patches of blue-sky canopy with supple heart […] Continue Reading
