HeyJareda small spectacle
Nature poems & short essays about finding wonder, healing & connection.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 5
- Latest publication
- Sep 11, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 8, 2026
Latest issues
How to be an animal (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedHow to be an animal –after Wendell Berry Remember sun-gold yolk, a tamped-grass form, clover stem, moss and mud, your mother’s scent, the basket that first held you. Let this oak be your only home. Tunnel deep in peanut-smelling earth, stain your snout with pokeberries, chew on roots, crimson drupes, black walnut hearts, ribbons of poplar bark. Doze beneath the curl of a fuzzed mullein leaf, or sleep straigh
To a Country on Fire (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedLove Note to a Country on Fire I know some days, it's difficult to tell the difference between the flying fluff of wooly aphids and fire-ash flurries, because, my god, so much of our country is burning. Not just California, Washington, Montana and Colorado, but today alone, twenty-five wildfires in Oregon forests— Little Bear, Paradise, Grasshopper, Fox. And like fools, we expect to keep finding wild beauty,
Refuge (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedRefuge On a holy day devoted to family, ICE agents raided the gorge in the Pisgah Forest where hundreds were gathered to swim and fish, make camp and break bread. Instead, they were chased through woods, down steep slopes and over felled oaks. Grabbed by brambles and snaking roots. One mother crossed swift currents with her children, another was taken in flip-flops and a bathing suit. Some families split up. Hid behind rocks
to a garden, mid-summer (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedAfter the sweet tang of a homegrown tomato fades, we still give thanks to nightshade plants, caged and staked as if to keep a season, its sun-crisped leaves, bored and split ruby fruit, the hornworm caterpillar left to fulfill its purpose. To the magenta pods of Mississippi pink eye peas, snowdrift blooms-to-be, half-hearts we all traced onto folded paper to make valentines. To the mystery of carrots, basil’s persistence, lo
To Be an Unloved Thing (opens the original)
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Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedIt's not the flash of a scarlet tanager that gets me, but vultures slowly sweeping a sky- highway, cleansing the breeze, the world's sweet rot wafting up. I once saw a vulture yawn like a sleepy kitten, more baroque than grotesque, weather-vaning on the neighbor’s roof. Too many know what it is to be an unloved thing— horrid thistle, rat snake, coyote and opossum, velveteen voles with baby-pink feet. Tomorrow, I will fall fo
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