Amber Veverka
Nothing dismal about this swamp
You leave the cypress trees, wide-skirted in black water, and the water itself, laced in ice. You leave the cold silence, punctuated only...
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Amber Veverka
The beach doesn't care what you look like
You stake your claim with an old sheet and a couple of rust-hinged, plastic-ribbed beach chairs. Arrange the emblems of your tiny...
Amber Veverka
The Magic of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings’ Cross Creek
It is risky to visit the land of one’s literature. Thoreau’s Walden Pond, hemmed by suburbia. Laura Ingalls Wilder’s sweet-scented...
Amber Veverka
A canyon full of silence
For all I’d been told about this place – the heart-stopping size, the kaleidoscope of color, the eerie window into ancient time – no one...
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