Must be cabin fever

It's a gray day in January, and I'm thinking about the fine perfect details of the beech leaves still hanging in the trees in the woods. And I'm thinking about the thousand-year-old bristlecone pine trees holding tightly to a certain cliff I know and have visited so many times in Southern Utah; and I'm watching a fire burning in the woodstove. Dead trees warm me.

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The Jack-in-the-Pulpits have made their appearance in the woods. A search on the web tells me some other names for the plant: Parson-in-the-Pulpit, Lord-and-Lady, Cuckoopint, Aronskelk, Indian Turnip, Iroquois Breadroot,…

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