Writings

  …of ricefields and men.

Last Saturday sunset, I splashed the Walker Bay and headed far up Butler Creek, into the deep interior marshland of abandoned ricefields that make up Snows Island. The ricefields are big sky country, broad sweeping vistas of water and grass outlined with brush and stunted trees, the only high ground a horizon far in the distance. “Man was here”, the ricefields say, but only in the past tense… (click to see more)