Veteran journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall riffs on life as she knows it.
My front yard — it’s a happening place. Life forms are shooting up all over it, greedily taking up their allotted space in the universe. Read more.
Does nature even know we’re here? Is nature benevolent? Cruel? Or indifferent? I used to think it was benign. Now I’m not so sure. Read more.
My deceased husband’s voice came at me the other day — from across the years, all the way from 1988 and a summer’s night under the stars. Read more.
At Muir Woods — how do you photograph a 200-foot redwood tree and get the whole thing into the picture, from roots to treetop? Read more.
My husband of 44 years died seven weeks ago. So far, I’ve used denial and distraction to keep my mind off the silence. Read more.
Out of the blue, my hair has begun sprouting Shirley Temple ringlets. I’ve got curls, adorable curls. What the heck? I didn’t know my hair could curl. Read more.