It has been since autumn that I’ve written anything. I feel...no, I know that a coup has been stag d in this country. But, from my vantage point it is only a matter of a worsening of an already very bad sc ne. More and more I live my life on the margins, by choice I am an outsider. Some don’t have that luxury. Being a white man in America is so different than being a POC. Indigenous peoples, who I have always lived near and with, regardless of it was in Arizona or in Minnesota, are the truest outsiders. The connection I feel to our Mother Earth and her creatures, her very being, is so important as I stand at the threshold of my elder years. Not that many years from ashes and dust, I long to step through the veil and regain the majick. My thoughts are fill d with the cries of the forests, the sadness of the winged and four legged. The trophies of man’s ego. From the margins I see more than from the outside, but I long to once again step out. To be a part of her beauty, to be apart from war and the incessant anger and fear.