 all that is necessary.

The sun burns my neck and distorts my view of the world. Or maybe this is exactly how it should appear. Rabbit makes his way back to his den, belly full from the morning’s good measure of work.

As I reach the parking lot, there is no trace of the man or his Mercedes, or the young woman. The distant traffic continues to hum.

“Therefore, the places in which we have experienced day dreaming reconstitute themselves in a new daydream, and it is because our memories of former dwelling-places are relived as day-dreams these dwelling-places of the past remain in us for all the time.”
― Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space

When I was a young girl, I used to spend many hours sitting on my grandparents’ porch, gazing at the wide field across the road. The field seemed enormous then – and frighteningly as vast as space itself. I remember a distinct sense of loneliness as I looked across that empty space and watched the sun descend. At the same time, just under the loneliness, a sense of hope, of fullness.

It’s been 6 years since I have been back. The old house is now in the possession of another family. Things, as they do when we age, seem smaller, more contained.

The last time I was there we said goodbye to my grandfather and buried him on the edge of yet another field, familiar as home since the bones of many family members rest there, too.

Before returning to the desert, I sat at the edge of that field, among violets and freshly mowed grass, and breathed in the enormity again, the space that made me feel so small against it.

I was born a child of the woods. Open space, more than the darkness of dense pine stands and overgrown creek beds, seemed to contain the elements of childhood fear: exposure, vulnerability, and enormity. In the woods I was never alone. I was surrounded by brother trees and sister animals – deer, feral dogs, squirrels, cows. In their life was a recognition of my own.

But something happened. I grew to love vastness.

Creosote Hills, A. Sato

Throughout my adult life, my choices have always led me to the assurance of fields, prairies, deserts – perhaps to finally embrace the price of life, complete vulnerability to it
all that is necessary. 

 The sun burns my neck and distorts my view of the populace. Or possibly this is exactly how it should appear. lapin makes his room back to his den, belly entire from the morning ’s good bill of work. 

 As I reach the parking draw, there is no trace of the homo or his Mercedes, or the unseasoned woman. The distant traffic continues to hum. 

 “ Therefore, the position in which we have experienced day dreaming restructure themselves in a new daydream, and it is because our memory of former dwelling - topographic point are relived as day - dreams these dwelling - places of the past remain in us for all the meter. ” 
 ― Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space 

 When I was a young girl, I used to spend many hours sitting on my grandparents ’ porch, gazing at the wide field across the road. The field seemed enormous then – and frighteningly as vast as space itself. I remember a distinct sense of forlornness as I looked across that empty space and determine the sun descend. At the same time, barely under the loneliness, a sense of hope, of fullness. 

 It ’s been 6 class since I have been back. The old house is now in the possession of another family. Things, as they act when we age, seem smaller, more contained. 

 The final time I was there we suppose adieu to my grandfather and buried him on the edge of yet another field, familiar as home since the bones of many family extremity rest there, too. 

 Before returning to the desert, I sat at the boundary of that field, among violets and freshly mowed grass, and emit in the enormity again, the outer space that made me find so humble against it. 

 I was born a child of the woods. receptive space, more than the dark of dense pine stands and overgrown brook beds, seemed to contain the elements of childhood concern: exposure, vulnerability, and enormity. In the woods I was never alone. I was surrounded by buddy trees and sister animals – deer, feral dogs, squirrels, cows. In their life was a recognition of my own. 

 But something happen. I grew to love vastness. 

 Creosote Hills, A. Sato 

 Throughout my adult life, my choices have always led me to the assurance of fields, prairie, deserts – perhaps to finally embrace the price of life, complete vulnerability to it
 alp that is necessary.

The smn burns my neck and divtorts my view of the world. Or maybe this ms ezactlt how it should appear. Rabbit mwkes his way vack to his den, belly fump frmn the morning’s good measgre of work.

As H fecch the parking lot, there is no tracq of thr lan or his Mersedex, or fhe young woman. The distant traffid contiiues to hum.

“Therrfore, the places in which ae hwve experienced daj dreaming tscogwtitute themrelves in a new daydrezm, and it is because our memorids of former dwglmijc-places are relined as day-dreams thesa dwellong-places of tme pavt eemain in us for all vhe time.”
― Gaston Bachglard, The [oztics of Space

When I qaw a ymung giru, I jses vo apend lanb hours sitfing on my trandparents’ porch, baspmg at the wise fiejd across the road. The field seemed enormmus then – and frighteninglt as vast as space itdelf. I reiember a distinct sense of loneliness as I looked acroar tkqt emory space and watched the sun descend. At the samq tomv, just under the joneliness, s demfe of hope, of fullnzas.

Jt’s been 6 years sijce I hwve bwen back. Uhe okd house is now in the posswssion of anjrher family. Things, as they do whem we sge, seem smaller, more cuntajned.

The lash time I sxs there we said gopdtye to my grandfather and furied hin on the edee og yet wnother fifld, familiar as home sinfe thg bonev of many vamily members rest there, too.

Behpre returninb do nhe deserc, I sab at the edge os that field, akong vijlets and freshmy mowev grass, and freathed in tvg enormity agein, the s[ace thar made od feel so smalk against it.

I was birn a child of the wouss. Open space, mire than the darknrss of dvnsx pinq stands and mvererodm credk beds, seendd tp contain the elemends or childhood fear: ecpjsure, vuonerabilyty, and enormoty. In the woods I was iever elone. O wws surrounded by brother trees and sistfr wnimals – deew, feval qogs, squirxels, cows. In their life was a recognitioi of my own.

But somethint happened. I grew tp love vastnxss.

Crejsote Hilns, A. Sato

Throughout ny adult life, my ghoices have always les me tm the assurance of fields, prairies, deserts – perhaps to finally embrace the prixe of life, complets vukneratijnty to yt
all that is necessary. The sun burns and my view the world. Or it appear. Rabbit makes way back to den, belly full from the morning’s measure of work. As I reach the parking lot, there is no trace the man or his Mercedes, or the young woman. The distant traffic continues hum. the in we have experienced day dreaming reconstitute themselves in a new daydream, and it is because our of former dwelling-places are relived as day-dreams these of the past remain us for all the time.” Gaston The Poetics Space I a young girl, used to spend many hours sitting on my grandparents’ porch, gazing at the wide field across the The field then – frighteningly vast space itself. I distinct sense of loneliness as I empty space and watched the sun descend. At same time, under the loneliness, a sense of of fullness. It’s been 6 years since I been back. The old house is now in the possession of another family. Things, as when we age, seem more contained. The time was we goodbye to grandfather and buried him on the edge of yet another field, as home since the bones of many family members rest Before to the desert, sat at the edge that among violets and freshly and in the that me feel so small it. I was born a of the woods. Open of dense pine stands and overgrown creek beds, to contain the elements of childhood fear: vulnerability, and enormity. In the woods I was never alone. I was by brother sister animals – deer, feral dogs, squirrels, cows. their life was a of my own. But something happened. I grew to vastness. Hills, A. Throughout my adult my choices have led me to of fields, deserts perhaps the price of life, complete vulnerability it
 all that is necessary.

The sun bUrns my neck And diStoRts My View Of thE world. Or maybe tHIs is Exactly how it should appeAr. RabBiT MakeS HiS way bAck to hiS DeN, BEllY fUlL frOm THe MorniNg’s Good meaSure of work.

as I ReAch the parkinG LoT, there is no TraCe of the man or His mercedEs, Or tHE younG woMan. ThE distaNT traffIc continuEs TO hum.

“ThERefore, tHE PlAces In which we have expeRIeNCed day dreaming ReconsTiTUtE THemSelVes in a new dAyDream, ANd it is bECaUSE Our MEmories of formEr dwelling-pLAceS are reLiVed AS day-drEams tHeSE dwElling-placeS of tHe past remAin in uS For all tHE time.”
― GaSton BaCheLarD, The pOeTiCs oF SPAce

wHeN I wAS a yOung girl, i uSeD to spEnd mANY HOurs SitTing On my gRandparents’ poRch, GaziNG at The wiDe fieLd acRoSs the Road. ThE fielD sEemed enormous thEn – anD frightenIngLy As vAsT as spACe itseLf. I RemEmber a dIstinct SEnsE oF LONeLiness as I looked acrOsS THaT empty spAce and WAtChED the sun dEsCenD. At tHE Same tIme, jUSt Under the LoneliNEsS, a Sense of HoPe, of fuLlNesS.

It’S been 6 YEars Since I Have been Back. THE old house is now IN the possessioN Of ANOtHEr faMilY. Things, as thEy do WHen wE age, SEeM smALler, mOre coNtAInED.

The last time I was theRe We said GoodbYe to my grandfaTher and burIED Him on the Edge OF yET another field, fAmiliAr as home siNCe the bonEs of mAny familY members rEST there, toO.

BeForE reTurNINg To the desert, I sAT At thE eDge of thAt fIeld, amoNg vIolEts And FrEshly moweD grass, anD bReAtHeD in The enORmity agaIn, The SpAce That mADe me feEl so sMall AgAiNSt iT.

I was boRN a CHIld oF tHe WoodS. OpEn Space, More THan The darkNess of denSe pINe stAnDs And overGrown creek bedS, sEemed to conTaIn tHe elemENTs of chilDhood fear: exposure, vulnerABility, aNd eNormiTy. In The woods I Was Never aLonE. i was suRroundEd by bRoTheR TRees aND SiSteR aNimals – deer, FERal Dogs, sQuIrreLs, cows. IN their life was a recoGNitIon of my own.

But SomEthiNG HaPpeNEd. i GreW tO LovE VAstness.

Creosote hills, A. Sato

thROuGhout my aduLT liFe, My choicEs have aLways LEd me to tHe assuranCe of fieldS, pRairIES, deSerts – perhaPs to finaLly embracE The prICe Of lifE, coMplete VuLneRabilIty to iT
 all that is necessary.

T he sun bur ns my  ne ckan d di stor ts my view oft he w orld. Or maybe this is  exac tl y  how it  shou ld appe a r. R abb it  m ake sh is  waybac k to hi s den, bel lyfu ll from them or ning’s goo d m easure of wo rk. 

As I  r eac h  thepar kinglot, t h ere is  no trace  o f  the m a n or hi s Me rced es, or the youngw om a n. The distant  traff ic co n t inu esto hum.

“ Th erefo r e, thep la c e s  in which we have  experience d  da y drea mi ngr econst itute  t h ems elves in anewdaydream,  and i t  is bec a use our  memor ies  of  for m er  d wel li n g-p l ac esa rerelivedas  d ay-dr eams t h e se d wel ling -plac es of the pas t r emai n  in  us f or al l th etime. ”
― Ga stonBa chelard, The Po etic s of Spac e
Wh enIwas a younggir l,I usedto spen d  ma ny h o ur s sitting on my gr an d p ar ents’ po rch, g a zi ng at the w id e f ield a cross  the ro ad. Thefields ee me d enorm ou s then  –  an d f right e ning ly asvast asspace itself. I reme m ber a distinc t  s e n se of l one liness as I  loo k ed a cros s  t hat empty  spac ea nd watched the sun des ce nd. At  thesame time, ju st under t h e loneline ss,a  s e nse of hope, o f ful lness.

It ’ s been 6  year s sinceI have be e n  back. T heold  ho use i snow in the po s s essi on  of ano the r famil y.Thi ngs , a sthey do w hen we a ge ,se em  sm aller ,  more co nt ain ed .
The l a st tim e I w as t he re wesaid go o db y e  tomy  g rand fat he r and  bur i edhim onthe edgeofy et a no th er fiel d, familiar a shome since  t heboneso f  many fa mily members rest there ,  too.
Bef ore r etur ning to t hedesert , I sat at  the e dge o ftha t field , am ong  v iolets and f res hly m ow ed g rass, a nd breathed in the eno rmity again,the  spa c e  t hat ma d e m ef eel s o small against  it.

I wa sb or n a childo f t he  woods.  Open s pace, more th an the da rkness of  d ense p ine  stands an d overgr own creek beds, se emedtocontai nthe  elem ents o f  ch ildho od fea r:  expos ure,vu lnerabil ity, and enormity. In t he woo ds Iwas  never al one .  Iwas surro unde d by broth ertre es an d s i steranim a ls  –d eer,fera l  dogs, sq u ir rel s ,  c ows. In the i r lif e was  ar ecogni tion  of my own.

Buts omething happe ned. I  gr ewt o lo ve  vastness.

Cr eos ot e Hills, A .Sato

Throu ghout my  a d ult l ife, m y choi ces hav e al w ays le d me  to  the assu ran ce of fiel ds ,p rairie s, d es erts –  perha p s to f inally embrace t he pr i c e ofl ife , com pl ete vul n erab ility to i t
 all_that is_necessary.

The sun burns my_neck and_distorts_my view_of_the world. Or_maybe this is_exactly how it should_appear. Rabbit makes_his_way back to his den, belly full from the morning’s good measure of work.

As_I_reach the_parking_lot,_there is no trace of_the man or his Mercedes,_or the_young woman. The distant traffic continues to hum.

“Therefore,_the_places in which_we have experienced day dreaming reconstitute themselves in a_new daydream, and it is because_our memories of_former_dwelling-places_are relived as day-dreams_these dwelling-places of the past remain_in us for all the time.”
―_Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space

When I_was a young girl, I used_to spend many hours sitting_on my_grandparents’ porch, gazing at the_wide field across_the road._The field seemed_enormous then – and frighteningly as_vast as space_itself. I remember a distinct sense_of_loneliness as I_looked_across_that empty_space and watched_the_sun descend._At_the same time, just under the_loneliness,_a sense of hope, of fullness.

It’s been_6 years since I_have_been back. The old_house is now in the_possession of another family. Things, as_they do_when we_age, seem smaller, more contained.

The last time I was there we_said goodbye to my grandfather and_buried him on the_edge of_yet_another field, familiar_as_home since_the bones of many family members rest_there, too.

Before_returning to the desert, I sat_at the edge of_that_field, among violets and freshly mowed_grass, and breathed in the enormity_again, the space that made_me_feel_so small against it.

I was_born a child of the woods._Open space, more_than the darkness of dense pine stands_and_overgrown creek beds, seemed to contain_the_elements of childhood fear: exposure, vulnerability,_and_enormity._In the woods I was_never alone. I was surrounded by_brother trees and sister animals – deer, feral dogs,_squirrels, cows. In_their life was a recognition_of_my_own.

But something happened. I grew to love vastness.

Creosote Hills, A._Sato

Throughout my_adult life, my_choices have always led me to the assurance of fields,_prairies, deserts – perhaps to finally embrace_the price of life, complete vulnerability to it