Sounds Older than Sitar
At the cabin, stories and sounds older than sitar emerge like the fleeting ghosts that inhabit this ground. My step crosses them here in the north, at a place that I go for my soul. I don’t have plans, and I don’t know what will happen this time, but I unlock the door, toss my stuff in the bedroom, and walk down the stairs to Big Casey Lake. When Small is Beautiful: stillness, light, and…











