The Tracks of Bluff Creek
The forest was a cathedral of damp green when Jerry Crew first saw them, though he’d never call it that. He was a logger, not a poet—hands rough as the bark he stripped, eyes sharp for the next cut. Bluff Creek,…
The Forest of Fear
The trees swallowed Peter whole that summer, 1982, when he wandered into them with a rucksack and a heart unmoored. A fresh graduate, ink still wet on his degree, he’d packed fishing rods and a camera, chasing clarity in the wilds…