My house in Tallahassee is deeply shielded by the hardwood trees of a remnant swamp forest.  Most of the year, I can’t see the face of the sun from our windows.  But in December the trees drop their leaves, and the sun rises farther and farther south of east.  Direct light floods our bedroom and dining room for just a few weeks.  I behold the approach of winter solstice.

The passage of winter into spring will return the sun to the north, and it will also bring the publication of my new nature memoir, Coming to Pass: Florida’s Coastal Islands in a Gulf of Change.  

It’s going to be a beautiful book, illustrated by the immensely talented David Moynahan, with maps by Matt Smith, and lovely design by the University of Georgia Press.

A book is generally a well-groomed animal, as perfectly perfect as editors, artists and publishers can make them. Books are tended and trimmed and turned out.  Like my writing colleagues, I re-work dozens of drafts of each one before it satisfies me. Books describe a time and place in the past, however recent.  A book or an essay is a snapshot, even a still life.

But guess what?  I have more to say.  More to talk over with all the good people who love the Earth and fear for the assaults humans are perpetrating on all the planet’s life forms.

On this new website and blog, my notes and essays will resemble the tracks of birds in the sand, less polished and perhaps less certain than a book. They will reflect butterfly and bird migrations, and the change of the seasons, and my concerns for the health of my family and friends, and for the Earth herself.

I have made a commitment to write weekly here, from winter solstice until the summer solstice.  I want to see what can grow if I align myself with the strengthening of the light.  I hope you will join me!