Grassroots
Flourishing in places we ought not be, we are not meant to be here but here we are.
Making Honey, Building Comb
Our minds melded . . . and we became a hive; all working, living, creating (as though these are separate things!) . . . We made the sweet honey of art and ritual, fed richly on the rewards of our generous participation.
Nameless, Lost People
The top-40 radio station out of Bismarck is silenced as several Dodge, Chevy and Ford pickups thunder down the dirt track into camp. “There’s going to be a naming ceremony,” Swan tells me, her nameless baby girl. . .
In Her Time 