we leave the highway
our argument so small
in the Colorado canyon
Laurie W. Stoelting b. 1943. Atlantic City, NJ. We move to Philadelphia; I grow up in the suburbs. . 1960, I apply to colleges but not Cornell (where rejection seems likely). Who knew? So much depends on serendipity. 1994, I hear the word “haiku” and don’t know what that means. I sign up for instruction. The teacher holds loosely to line count. We don’t pay attention to season words. I am hiking and write directly from nature. Until I begin to understand juxtaposition, the process seems like trial and error. I follow an inner rhythm, connect the external to the internal or write from the inside out. I keep learning . . . . The other side of risk is opportunity… //unisex restroom / I think I’ll reinvent / who I am //(MH). My collection from Mt. Tamalpais, Light on the Mountain, was published in 2000. “Selections” from the original, in 2008. I live in Mill Valley, California, with my husband Eric. We have two grown children and a new grandson, born this spring. //overnight / mountain lupine//. . . . I continue to write – more and more going to memory as Parkinson’s rattles its hold on my life. //trail ascending / we reach / the wind//. This poem, from the Mt. Tam collection, will open Walking Tamalpais (Snyder, Killion:Heyday 2009).