Excerpt from Threshold, a Novel-in-Progress:
Fen Preserve. Such a beautiful place. Even as David walked away from our efforts to save its purple-green wetlands and glacier carved ridges, it was the beauty of the place that I wanted to remember: the violet mist of its mornings, the hot white-silver of its moonlight, the prehistoric trumpeting of cranes at dawn and dusk. Fen’s was a place where the landscape was inextricably intertwined with the wildlife and the people who roamed it. To separate the wetlands from the hills and prairies, to separate the geology of the place and its stories from the humans who researched, who set up easels and painted, who tagged plants and tallied flights, such separations were impossible.