Jacob is such a talented writer at eyes + words and he occasionally writes pieces that are in my genre. I felt this piece by him really resonated and the scene of the woman at the lake was so very familiar.
Written by Jacob Ibrag Standing still upon a wet stone in the lake behind the cabin, she closed her eyes and began to count to seven. ‘Four, five, six,’ struggling to push the last number out of her lips, she turned around and was met with his worried expression. ‘What are you doing all the […]
via Seven — eyes + words
I was recently referred to this beautiful piece by a friend and found its soothing composition to be so very appropriate for the feeling of tranquility I experience in nature.
Howl at the moon, my love, while we’re in the deep throes of our rut. Your yips and yelps only encourage me.
This she-wolf’s not yours
And always commands respect
For she is Alpha
Words and photography by The Bison in the Woods (c) 2016
Photograph taken in Yellowstone National Park
Some very beautiful photography from Dana
So he died with your poems in his hand and now your tears pour like a thunderstorm in springtime. And yet isn’t this what life really is? We find moments to touch each other in the most profound ways so that the other feels truly known and loved. Your tears may flow like the river, yet every one of those drops will be absorbed into the roots of your heart and the love of his spirit will always be within you.
Sculpture by Debra Bernier
Welcome to The Bison in the Woods. I suspect that few that will find this private little place, but for those that do, I am pleased you are here. I created it because I need one little haven in this world where I can be myself, where I can heal and grow, without any pretension, expectations or roles.
In many ways, this is my next step toward authenticity and a life, lived bravely and more fully expressed. But I need to heal. I need a quiet place to contemplate and I have always found that place deep in the forest. There is a magic to having a dragonfly land on your hand or an eagle soar over your head. When the wind blows through the trees, I hear the whispers of lovers.