Heather Heying

The morning sun comes in low this time of year. Across the field, the tall grass, yellowing as winter approaches, is limp with moisture. When wet, the leaves of madrones and hemlocks and firs appear to be a slightly deeper green. Drops of water are suspended just so, in architectural arrays, jewels … Continue Reading

In the spring, wrote Alfred Lord Tennyson, “a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love,” and this may oftentimes be true. But here, on a sometimes-blustery island in the Salish Sea, thoughts of love have long since been acted upon by the time spring comes around. On San Juan Island, … Continue Reading

“Draw blue,” I said, laying back in a hammock and watching them try, using sticks in the coarse Caribbean sand. You might imagine — as I think I did — that the best approach would be to draw something inherently, enduringly, blue. The sea. A blue jay. A morpho butterfly. Blueberries. As it turned … Continue Reading

By the time this paper arrives in mailboxes and stores, people in some parts of the country may have begun to hear the chorus of frogs that assures us that spring is coming. But most places will still be deep in winter. The frogs know this, and they have nothing to say. Not yet.  Fast forward a few … Continue Reading

Walk along a ridgeline in summer, and waves of heat contort your view. Distant trees shimmer in the hot air separating you and them. High overhead, a hawk rides the thermals. Below, a silvery strand winds through the valley, large lazy curves of water that have found the path that is easiest, for … Continue Reading

Like all of the best gods, Kukulkan is not visible most of the time. His head, a gaping maw of serpent badassery, is fixed in place at the base of his temple in southern Mexico. Most days, his body is absent. Twice a year, a one-two punch of astronomical reality and Mayan insight come together, … Continue Reading

The tide is slack, the water so still it seems it might shatter. Seals float, suspended, in the shallows, two dozen pairs of dark eyes looking towards land. I feel a kinship with these animals, a relationship, or I want one, anyway. Their gaze is towards me. Do they recognize me, from far back in … Continue Reading