Tag Archives: Luanne Armstrong

I went outside after the rain, into the late afternoon sun. The robins hallooed hosannas from the cherry tree and the iris stuck up their razored snouts and hollered and two new daffodils, split open into the sun stretched themselves and the light came up, from over the edge of fat purple-blue clouds and litContinue reading “A poem by Luanne Armstrong”

Rewilding This spring I walked across the bottom field of my farm, crunching my way through the tall canary grass that had formed grey-green mats over the field, and   reaching for the light, baby fir trees, barely sprung from the wet ground. Land everywhere records its history and then buries it. Buildings buckle and fallContinue reading “Rewilding. Non-fiction by Luanne Armstrong”