Posts Tagged: Love
Earthseed
There are a lot of books about the climate crisis out there in the world. These two are the closest to my heart: who do we have to become to create the world we need for our survival?
Earthseed
There are a lot of books about the climate crisis out there in the world. These two are the closest to my heart: who do we have to become to create the world we need for our survival?
On the Future: A Harsh Climate for Motherhood
On some days, the door to that world seems to be closing for good. The only positive thing I can say about our vanishing possibility is this: we are no longer constrained by the unreality of political reality.
On the Future: A Harsh Climate for Motherhood
On some days, the door to that world seems to be closing for good. The only positive thing I can say about our vanishing possibility is this: we are no longer constrained by the unreality of political reality.
We Cannot Love What Is Not
Helen MacDonald’s memoir, H is for Hawk, is about falconry as mourning in the wake of her father’s sudden death. But what struck me most about MacDonald’s book is the way climate change is present throughout, without being the intended subject.
We Cannot Love What Is Not
Helen MacDonald’s memoir, H is for Hawk, is about falconry as mourning in the wake of her father’s sudden death. But what struck me most about MacDonald’s book is the way climate change is present throughout, without being the intended subject.
Stuffaloes Go Roaming
A lot of babies in my orbit these days, the new kids of people I love. I’ve been celebrating by figuring out how to make different kinds of animals for them.
Stuffaloes Go Roaming
A lot of babies in my orbit these days, the new kids of people I love. I’ve been celebrating by figuring out how to make different kinds of animals for them.
The Family Practice: on loss and grooves
Words dried up when my father died. In the new year I’m finding new words, but this paragraph I wrote in June was like a lump in my throat, demanding to come first:
The Family Practice: on loss and grooves
Words dried up when my father died. In the new year I’m finding new words, but this paragraph I wrote in June was like a lump in my throat, demanding to come first:
grandgather 