If I were a bird, I'd live here
an excerpt

The first night I stayed at her house, she served elk meat. From an elk she shot. And cleaned. Herself. Looking a large, warm, breathing, beautiful, living being in the eye, large, brown, wet, motherly eyes, and pulling a trigger and ending life, is one thing. Taking an ax to hack off her legs and head, slicing her skin from her muscles, slicing her muscles from her bones and packaging her muscles into serving sizes perfect for guests, is another thing. This woman is bad-ass. Hard-core. And not to be dismissed. Anyone capable of such things in one moment and knitting a scarf in the next, is capable of anything. Her power is unadulterated. Her power is vacuum packed. I have been called to my best by her very existence. This call did not require her to speak to me. And she hasn’t.