Author: Nadja Goldberg

The marmot lies on gray rock, a mass of skin and soft fur; he rests, soaks up sun. He wears a blanket of his own silvery-brown comfort, glinting in heavy afternoon light. I follow the footpath a narrow stripe across miles of forests and stark mountains. My backpack and my steps propel me down through… Continue reading The Marmot

Remember the river? Your toes curl over slippery rocks, soft gush twists through the valley bound by sprouted grass, thin strokes shivering in the breeze. Remember the mountains? Enormous bodies of stagnant power, draped in a pine robe. You sit on a rock at the top, take full breaths and recall when this spot was… Continue reading Remember the Sky