“Black Elk,” watercolor painting by kayti sweetland rasmussen “Eulogy” by Sherman Alexie My mother was a dictionary, She was one of the last fluent speakers of our tribal language. She knew dozens of words that no one else knew. When she died, we buried all those words with her. My mother was a dictionary. She […]


“Blissful” terra cotta sculpture by kayti sweetland rasmussen EXCELSIOR ~~~~~~~~~ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, ‘mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior! His brow was sad; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its […]

LIGHTS OUT Kate’s Journal

The final goodbye always comes as an unpleasant gut-wrenching surprise no matter how long its approach. I knew that at my father’s passing the mournful sound of “Taps” would echo over the hills of Southern Oregon. What better place to say goodbye to this son of the Rogue River, surrounded by his long-gone family, and […]


Happiness is the gold ring on the Merry-Go-Round,the swell of the ocean under your board, the sound of crickets on a warm summer evening. The word itself is an altruistic phenomenon meaning different things to different people and requiring different paths to get there. As Eric Hoffer once said, “When you are young you can […]


“Taos Man” stoneware sculpture by kayti sweetland rasmussen “Forgiving Our Fathers” poem by Dick Lourie Maybe in a dream; he’s in your power you twist his arm but you’re not sure it was he that stole your money you feel calmer and you decide to let him go free or he’s the one (as in […]


A dejected young man trudging along Madison Avenue in 1937 was probably not an unusual sight during the Great Depression, but this one bumped into a friend from his college days who asked him what he was carrying. “It’s a book no one will publish” said Theodor Geisel, stinging from his 27th rejection, “and I’m […]


THE WARNING OF THE WATERMILL Poem by Richard Holding Vitruvius Molinus made me, With wheel and stone and leat, While cohorts marched against the tribes Westward on Watling Street. Four generations tended me, Till the Legions recall to Rome; But a Molinus stayed to work my mill— He knew no other home. When invading hordes […]