The little plane coming in for a landing suddenly swoops upward as a herd of wildebeests thunders across the dirt airstrip that serves as a runway in the middle of nowhere.
When I came home from Africa, I brought the Maasai with me.
There was this elephant…
Last week, soon after returning from Africa, I received a gentle prod to post again.
This ragged piece of a cardboard box will forever be a reminder for me of a time of confounding, big magic.
Reading a book recently about a grief-stricken young boy who goes searching for his dead mother, halfway through it I found myself feeling positively giddy.
She talked to corn plants growing in the field. And the corn talked back.
A decade ago, orbs began to show up in my photos—my all-time favorite, this one above of preschooler Ryder and a “friend.”
An enthusiastic veteran of a Gateway Voyage recently dubbed the magical place where she’d had one unforgettable adventure after another—“Hogwarts for adults.”
“Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it” says Joan Didion, a writer who suddenly became a widow and decided to pull no punches about the grieving process.