Journal
Notes
Dispatches from the road, the classroom and the workshop — whatever the way handed over and was worth writing down.
What a map cannot tell you
Some roads look nothing on paper like what they turn out to be.
Teaching the ones who will teach
A learner carries what you taught them. An instructor carries it to everyone after.
Where nothing has to be explained
Poetry is the one room where I am not the teacher.
Look before the shutter
Thirty years of carrying a camera taught me the slowest part first.
The desert keeps its own hours
You do not set the schedule out there. You read it.
Everything begins with the word
Before the road, the camera and the rest of it, there was writing.
One right decision
Real teaching is not the transfer of technique.
When sound says it instead
Music is the same story, told by something other than a pen.
Word, line and colour
Calligraphy is another form of the same way of looking.
The villages the highway forgot
The new road saved an hour and removed everything worth stopping for.
Four lines, nowhere to hide
The rubai gives you no room to be approximately right.
What the mountain teaches
Twenty-five years of climbing changed how I ride.