Nature, Real and Novel

<p>There&rsquo;s not anything inherently special about the Pacific Northwest. Or rather, there is, but not more so than there is something inherently special about any place on Earth that a human or other creature, big or small, has made their home. I write about this one because it happens to be the place that I have called home for most of my life, and the only one I&rsquo;ve ever felt rooted. I feel deeply about this place, about these trees and my ability to describe all the different kinds of gray the sky can be in a place that is mostly gray (and green) for nine months out of the year. But there is more to it than that. It&rsquo;s the only place I&rsquo;ve been long enough to know, not just as a place, but as a place in the context of time. Because there&rsquo;s no other way to look at the relationships between people and the land and the other things that inhabit it. Looking at how things are&nbsp;<em>now</em>&nbsp;can tell you very little about how they&rsquo;ve changed, about damage that&rsquo;s been done or symbiotic relationships that have been built or broken, or repeating cycles of death and regeneration and fire and seasons and sustenance. My thirty-some years are irrelevant on the scale of time, of course. But they&rsquo;re the only point of reference I have, so they are where I start.</p> <p><a href="https://adriennedomingus.medium.com/nature-real-and-novel-3b3a6cced18d"><strong>Read More</strong></a></p>
Tags: Real Novel