Trinity University Press

Nature isn't only in a park or wilderness. It’s right outside our door Sometimes it’s on the door or comes inside to find us. Nature is the jumping spider on the screen, the assassin bug in the shower, and the cluster of ladybugs at the lamp. It is the moss on brick where gutters spill, a sycamore sprout in the storm drain, and the trash can lid turned into a bird bath.

Joanna Brichetto is a neurodiverse, late-blooming naturalist with a sharp eye. Despite having chronic illnesses, she spends much of her time exploring nature and has an infectious, almost zealous love for the flora and fauna near and in her Nashville home. In This Is How a Robin Drinks, Brichetto weaves observation, reflection, and commentary with unsentimental wit and an earthy humor into an urban almanac of fifty-two short lyrical essays.

Each piece offers a sketch of everyday wonders in everyday habitat loss. Nature is the dead sparrow in the pickup line at the elementary school, a full moon over the electric substation, and the cicada chorus that doesn’t make a days-long migraine any better (but doesn’t make it any worse either). Nature is under our feet, over our heads, and beside us—the very places we need to know first. Arranged by season, the pieces in this collection celebrate nature—just as it is—on the sidewalk and in the backyard, the park, and the parking lot.

How do we find a way to exist equitably in the world without exhausting our natural and cultural resources? Exploring how to create belonging, among both human and nonhuman animals, is our essential work. Parents have the added responsibility of conveying this charge to their children in a way that centers hope and empowerment over guilt and fear.

In Satellite, Simmons Buntin delves into the idea of belonging—in place, time, family, and community—in sixteen essays written over nearly two decades. The pieces range throughout the desert Southwest, on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border, and as far afield as Mount Saint Helens, eastern Montana, northern Vermont, Sweden, and even the moon (if a telescope atop Kitt Peak counts). Buntin examines the beauty and challenges of raising a family and creating more sustainable communities in the Sonoran Desert—and, more broadly, in any of America’s diverse cultural and ecological landscapes. How should community be defined? How do we protect heritage in an age of globalization? How do we find renewal following personal and place-based trauma? What forms may grace take, and how can parents pass that dignity on to their children?

Fortunately, it is a responsibility both shared and rewarding, funny and phenomenal, for at every turn there is a new discovery, a new insight, a new integration between ourselves and the world that culminates, when we succeed, in a vibrant sense of place. Buntin searches for a balance between the built and natural environments and the beings that inhabit them in a way that enables us not only to survive but to thrive together.

Out There recounts one man’s search to lead an authentic life, an adventure that takes him all over the world and through some of the biggest societal changes of recent history. From a distance, this could be a typical American story: boy grows up in a religious home, joins the military to defend his country, returns home to attend university, then becomes a firefighter. That would be typical if it weren’t for the fact that he’s gay and was open in places that historically excluded people like him.

As a nineteen-year-old from a fundamentalist family, Lance Garland worked hard to qualify for Navy SEAL training, then sailed across the Pacific on a warship where he met his first boyfriend. After his partner was sexually assaulted by a superior, the two men became witnesses in a court-martial that was complicated by the military’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy. After he was discharged from the Navy, Garland discovered time in nature as a way to heal from the experiences of his youth. While sailing, backpacking ,and climbing in the Pacific Northwest, he navigates the challenges of becoming a first-generation college student, equal rights activist, and the first openly gay fireman in the Seattle fire department.

Out There is a memoir of a man out in the wilderness, both physically and socially, on a journey to find a place to call his own. It is for anyone who has felt like an outsider or hasn’t found their place yet.

The Ecopoetry Anthology is the authoritative book of contemporary American poetry about nature and the environment. Ann Fisher-Wirth and Laura-Gray Street, the editors of the daring first volume, have reunited to create Attached to the Living World. The second anthology explores the issues and conversations in ecopoetry over the past decade and features more than 150 established and emerging poets, including Mildred Barya, Nickole Brown, Simmons Buntin, Lauren Camp, Iris Jamahl Dunkle, Vievee Francis, CMarie Fuhrman, Ross Gay, Erin Hollowell, Marie Howe, Petra Kuppers, J. Drew Lanham, Ada Limόn, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, January Gill O’Neil, Catherine Pierce, Tracy K. Smith, Brian Teare, and Natasha Tretheway. With a foreword by Camille Dungy and an introduction by Margaret Ronda, the poems gathered here provide vital visions to nurture our imaginations and spur us to act.

The anthology delves into the multifaceted ecological crises of our time, highlighting the toxic aftermath of industrial progress and the inequities of environmental racism. It underscores the stark realities faced by communities at the frontline of climate change, emphasizing the overlaps of land degradation and social injustice. Despite themes of loss and devastation, the work is imbued with a current of hope, showcasing poetry’s ability to inspire a reconnection with the natural world. It also amplifies the voices of indigenous poets, offering invaluable perspectives on land stewardship and cultural resilience in the face of ongoing colonial impacts. These contributions speak to the essential role of native knowledge and practices in habitat preservation and cultural survival.

Taken as a whole, the anthology emerges as a powerful call to action, urging collective reflection on our carbon footprint and a shared commitment to sustainable futures. It stands as a profound exploration of the intersections of ecological awareness, social justice, and poetic expression, inviting readers to contemplate their place in the broader web of life.

At Great Salt Lake, near Robert Smithson’s iconic earthwork Spiral Jetty, a motley crew of scientists walks the mudflats to study fossils in the making. This reputedly dead sea is home to tar seeps, pools of raw oil (nicknamed ‘death traps’) that act as a preservative, encasing organisms as they were in life.

In this spare landscape, an intricate web of life unfurls. Halophiles―salt-hungry microorganisms―tint the brackish water pink and orange; crystals of gypsum stud the ground, glistening underfoot; and pelicans and other migratory birds stop for a crucial rest. Barn owls and seagulls flirt with their prey around the seeping constellations, sometimes falling prey to the oil themselves. Gretchen Henderson came to the tar seeps, a kind of natural asphalt, after recovering from being hit by a car as she walked in a crosswalk―a manmade asphalt. Like the spiraling artwork that made Great Salt Lake’s north shore famous, Henderson’s associations of life and death, degeneration and regeneration, and injury and healing coalesced. As she reexamined pressing issues that this delicate area revealed about the climate crisis, her sense of ecology spiraled into other ways of perceiving the lake’s entangled lives.

How do we move beyond narrow concepts of wounded and healed, the beautiful and the ugly, to care for ecosystems that evolve over time? How do we confront our vulnerability to recognize kindred dynamics in our living planet? Through shifting lake levels, bird migrations, microbial studies, environmental arts, and cultural histories shaped by indigenous knowledges and colonial legacies, Life in the Tar Seeps contemplates the ways that others have understood this body of water, enlivening more than this region alone. As Henderson witnesses scientists, arts curators, land managers, and students working collaboratively to steward a challenging place, she grows to see the lake not as dead but as a watershed for shifting perceptions of any overlooked place, offering a meditation on environmental healing across the planet.

Henderson interweaves her journey with her own vivid photographs of tar seeps and pelican death assemblages, historic maps and contemporary art, as a wayfinding guide for exploring places of our own.

Leonardo da Vinci was obsessed with water. The famed Italian Renaissance artist meticulously drew every aspect of rivers, from the nature of water drops to the ways currents create and destroy the earth’s surface. His obsession led him to become a professional hydraulic engineer and an expert on the physics of water. He disproved Aristotle’s 1,800-year-old theory of the water cycle and developed the one we use today. He discovered the nature of erosion and heretically disproved the biblical flood. He created beautiful maps and drawings of river currents and of his audacious plans to reroute the Arno River for war and peace.

It is obvious to David Ladensohn, who has been fly-fishing for forty years, that Leonardo would have made the perfect fishing guide. The artist’s keen sense of humor and winning personality would have made him a wonderful companion. He knew more about how rivers work than any person before him and would have been outstanding at reading the water to figure out where the fish are. Beginning with Leonardo’s remarkable biography—from underprivileged child to celebrity whose company was sought by competing rulers in Italy and France—and taking readers through the inspirations that led him to fall in love with waterways, Ladensohn makes the connection between the artist’s life and his own deep knowledge of the art of fly-fishing. His adventures have led him to seek out the most unique, storied, and traveled fly-fishing locales in the world, including Argentina, Mexico, Cuba, Bhutan, Italy, Slovenia, Australia, Canada, New Zealand, Brazil, Costa Rica, Bahamas, Ireland, England, and Mongolia.

Ladensohn’s research on Leonardo led him to native rivers in Italy to scholars at Oxford and the inside of Windsor Castle, where he studied the finest of Leonardo’s original water drawings. The illustrations, which remain little known even today, are reproduced here in color, many for the first time. Fly-Fishing with Leonardo da Vinci is meant to inform and entertain anyone interested in the artist or fly-fishing and their unlikely intersection.

As our treatment of nonhuman animals is increasingly implicated in planetary crises—from climate change to global pandemics to unprecedented rates of biodiversity loss and species extinction—it’s clear that an urgent reconsideration of our relationship to other animals is not only necessary but overdue.

How we write about animals, how we represent them in our poems and stories, doesn’t simply reflect how we relate to them in the world; it also shapes how we treat them. Any cultural shift in how we conceive of other animals requires a shift in how we read and write about them. The New Sentience seeks to help catalyze this shift by ushering in a new kind of animal poetry, what editors Ashley Capps and Allison Titus dub “kinpoetics.” Whereas animals in Western poetry have disproportionately functioned as symbols, the poems in this anthology foreground a meaningful awareness of animal sentience and subjectivity, depicting other animals as individuals with dynamic selfhood, personalities, and emotional lives.

Stylistically wide-ranging, the poets featured here, among them Wendell Berry, Lucille Clifton, E. E. Cummings, Mary Oliver, Ross Gay, and Margaret Atwood, apply scrutinous lyrical attention to the animal experience in such surprising and illuminating ways that the reader can’t avoid an earnest reexamination of what humans owe our more-than-human kin. With humility, empathy, and curiosity, the work in this anthology reaffirms the vital connections between humans, animals, and the natural world. This pioneering book will impel readers to a deeper understanding of the lives of the creatures that share our planet and will inspire poets and writers to a more compassionate, meaningful engagement with animal subjects and lives.

In a remote corner of the Arctic in 1941, a meteor shower flashed across the sky for an unusually long time. Taking this to be a sign, one of the local Inuit proclaimed himself Jesus Christ. Another proclaimed himself God. Anyone who didn’t believe in them was Satan. Violence ensued.

At the End of the World isn’t just the remarkable story of a series of murders that occurred on the Belcher Islands, a group of wind-blasted rocks in Canada’s Hudson Bay. It’s also a starting place for a deeper cultural exploration. Against the backdrop of the murders, which highlight the fact that senseless violence in the name of religion is not a contemporary phenomenon and that a even people as seemingly peaceful as the Inuit can turn to chaos at the hands of one person’s delusion, Millman addresses the burgeoning dawn of the digital era, following the murders’ trail to show how our obsession with screens is not unlike a cult and offering a warning cry against the erosion of humanity and the destruction of the environment. The story becomes a confluence of the consequences of generational trauma, outside religious evangelism, systemic racism against indigenous people, the perilous passage from the natural to the digital world, and what it means to be human in a time of technological dominance and climate disasters.

At the End of the World, available for the first time in paperback, is not a straightforward tale of true crime but an examination of many of the issues that have become dominant in the global conversation. In snippets of reflection, Millman asks us to look north for answers to many of the questions we all hold, literally, in our hands.

“Care work is climate work.” Jennifer Case first encountered this message during the pandemic, while monitoring her daughter’s attempts at virtual learning and trying to keep her toddler from running naked into faculty Zoom meetings. The phrase appeared online beside photos of backyard gardens and essential workers in masks, offering an unexpected validation: caring for others—whether children, the ill, or the earth—is vital work. Intrigued, Case began exploring the connections between personal, domestic, and ecological care. What started as research through the lenses of feminism and economics grew into a larger investigation that touched on environmental thought, Indigenous teachings, disability studies, and the psychology of empathy. Along the way, Case developed a broader spiritual and ecological awareness that changed how she viewed the act of caring itself.

Part memoir and part cultural reflection, The Carework Project combines intimate storytelling with research, interviews, and visual art to explore what care means in a time of climate crisis. Case shows how caregiving, often invisible, gendered, or undervalued, is central to our survival. She examines how trauma and burnout affect our ability to connect, and how healing can start with the smallest gestures of attention. The book invites readers to envision a world where care is not a burden but a source of mutual renewal and belonging.

Visually striking collage postcards enhance the text. The result is a hybrid work that feels both timely and timeless, honoring the messy, creative, and transformative act of caring for one another and the living world.

When Julia Martin visits the Greek islands of the Dodecanese, beauty and suffering seem inextricable. On the Sponge Islands follows her journey through Rhodes, Symi, Halki, Kalymnos, and Patmos to trace the cultural and ecological legacy of sponge diving. Because of their wonderful porosity, sea sponges have always been perfect for a myriad of human uses, and men from the islands had been diving for them and trading them since antiquity. In the late nineteenth century new deep sea diving suits made it possible to mine the seabed as never before and bring home untold wealth. It was a rich harvest that came at the cost of many lives. And it couldn’t last. Everything, one might say, flowed through sponges. Until it didn’t.

Over three visits, Martin meets Aphrodite, Lefteris, Manuel, Zinovia, and others whose lives are bound to the sea. Through their stories, she uncovers the rise and fall of the sponge trade and its deep entanglement with environmental devastation. The islands bear the scars of war, both human and ecological. And yet, despite all of this, the Aegean remains a glory of blue. For all of its plunder, the sea is still luminous and alive, and conversations with the islanders keep returning to the heart.

On the Sponge Islands brings together natural history, personal recovery, and ecosocial reckoning. Martin’s lyrical, searching prose is rich in dialogue, extraordinary characters, and curious tales. While the devastation of the Aegean seabed may mirror the wider ecological catastrophe, the green renewal taking root on some of the islands is an embodiment of hope. This is a story of extinction and resilience, of loss and restoration. It reminds us that it may not be too late—not yet.

On the Sponge Islands follows Julia Martin’s journey through the Greek Dodecanese, where she returns three times over five years to trace the cultural and ecological legacy of sponge diving. Drawn by the ancient marine life of the Aegean Sea, Martin finds that the porosity of sponges—once symbols of utility and wonder—has also made them vulnerable, mirroring the fragility of the ecosystem and the communities entwined with it.

Her first visit introduces a cast of islanders—Manuel, Aphrodite, and Lefteris—whose stories reveal the rise and fall of the sponge trade and its entanglement with environmental devastation. The islands bear scars of conflict, both human and ecological, yet the Aegean remains a luminous force.

On her second journey, Martin is recovering from cancer treatment. Her encounters deepen with old and new friends, including Orfeas—a man whose name echoes mythic returns from death. Her reflections grow more personal as she begins to see the sponge islands both as a microcosm of the global environmental crisis and as a place where recovery, both human and ecological, may be possible.

By 2022, during her final visit amid the postpandemic, restoration has become central. The tiny island of Halki, once emblematic of decline, reimagines itself as the first “Gr-Eco” island, powered by green technology. On Rhodes, Martin meets Zinovia, a pioneering female diver and activist scientist who embodies the region’s future.

Through Martin’s elegant, searching prose, On the Sponge Islands connects natural history, personal recovery, and environmental reckoning. It is a story of extinction and resilience, suffering and beauty, fragility and hope. Above all, it insists that it’s not too late—not yet.

Out There recounts one man’s search to lead an authentic life, an adventure that takes him all over the world and through some of the biggest societal changes of recent history. From a distance, this could be a typical American story: boy grows up in a religious home, joins the military to defend his country, returns home to attend university, then becomes a firefighter. That would be typical if it weren’t for the fact that he’s gay and was open in places that historically excluded people like him.

As a nineteen-year-old from a fundamentalist family, Lance Garland worked hard to qualify for Navy SEAL training, then sailed across the Pacific on a warship where he met his first boyfriend. After his partner was sexually assaulted by a superior, the two men became witnesses in a court-martial that was complicated by the military’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy. After he was discharged from the Navy, Garland discovered time in nature as a way to heal from the experiences of his youth. While sailing, backpacking ,and climbing in the Pacific Northwest, he navigates the challenges of becoming a first-generation college student, equal rights activist, and the first openly gay fireman in the Seattle fire department.

Out There is a memoir of a man out in the wilderness, both physically and socially, on a journey to find a place to call his own. It is for anyone who has felt like an outsider or hasn’t found their place yet.

The Ecopoetry Anthology is the authoritative book of contemporary American poetry about nature and the environment. Ann Fisher-Wirth and Laura-Gray Street, the editors of the daring first volume, have reunited to create Attached to the Living World. The second anthology explores the issues and conversations in ecopoetry over the past decade and features more than 150 established and emerging poets, including Mildred Barya, Nickole Brown, Simmons Buntin, Lauren Camp, Iris Jamahl Dunkle, Vievee Francis, CMarie Fuhrman, Ross Gay, Erin Hollowell, Marie Howe, Petra Kuppers, J. Drew Lanham, Ada Limόn, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, January Gill O’Neil, Catherine Pierce, Tracy K. Smith, Brian Teare, and Natasha Tretheway. With a foreword by Camille Dungy and an introduction by Margaret Ronda, the poems gathered here provide vital visions to nurture our imaginations and spur us to act.

The anthology delves into the multifaceted ecological crises of our time, highlighting the toxic aftermath of industrial progress and the inequities of environmental racism. It underscores the stark realities faced by communities at the frontline of climate change, emphasizing the overlaps of land degradation and social injustice. Despite themes of loss and devastation, the work is imbued with a current of hope, showcasing poetry’s ability to inspire a reconnection with the natural world. It also amplifies the voices of indigenous poets, offering invaluable perspectives on land stewardship and cultural resilience in the face of ongoing colonial impacts. These contributions speak to the essential role of native knowledge and practices in habitat preservation and cultural survival.

Taken as a whole, the anthology emerges as a powerful call to action, urging collective reflection on our carbon footprint and a shared commitment to sustainable futures. It stands as a profound exploration of the intersections of ecological awareness, social justice, and poetic expression, inviting readers to contemplate their place in the broader web of life.

Nature isn't only in a park or wilderness. It’s right outside our door. Sometimes it’s on the door or comes inside to find us. Nature is the jumping spider on the screen, the assassin bug in the shower, and the cluster of ladybugs at the lamp. It is the moss on brick where gutters spill, a sycamore sprout in the storm drain, and the trash can lid turned into a bird bath.

Joanna Brichetto is a neurodiverse, late-blooming naturalist with a sharp eye. Despite having chronic illnesses, she spends much of her time exploring nature and has an infectious, almost zealous love for the flora and fauna near and in her Nashville home. In This Is How a Robin Drinks, Brichetto weaves observation, reflection, and commentary with unsentimental wit and an earthy humor into an urban almanac of fifty-two short lyrical essays.

Each piece offers a sketch of everyday wonders in everyday habitat loss. Nature is the dead sparrow in the pickup line at the elementary school, a full moon over the electric substation, and the cicada chorus that doesn’t make a days-long migraine any better (but doesn’t make it any worse either). Nature is under our feet, over our heads, and beside us—the very places we need to know first. Arranged by season, the pieces in this collection celebrate nature—just as it is—on the sidewalk and in the backyard, the park, and the parking lot.

In a remote corner of the Arctic in 1941, a meteor shower flashed across the sky for an unusually long time. Taking this to be a sign, one of the local Inuit proclaimed himself Jesus Christ. Another proclaimed himself God. Anyone who didn’t believe in them was Satan. Violence ensued.

At the End of the World isn’t just the remarkable story of a series of murders that occurred on the Belcher Islands, a group of wind-blasted rocks in Canada’s Hudson Bay. It’s also a starting place for a deeper cultural exploration. Against the backdrop of the murders, which highlight the fact that senseless violence in the name of religion is not a contemporary phenomenon and that a even people as seemingly peaceful as the Inuit can turn to chaos at the hands of one person’s delusion, Millman addresses the burgeoning dawn of the digital era, following the murders’ trail to show how our obsession with screens is not unlike a cult and offering a warning cry against the erosion of humanity and the destruction of the environment. The story becomes a confluence of the consequences of generational trauma, outside religious evangelism, systemic racism against indigenous people, the perilous passage from the natural to the digital world, and what it means to be human in a time of technological dominance and climate disasters.

At the End of the World, available for the first time in paperback, is not a straightforward tale of true crime but an examination of many of the issues that have become dominant in the global conversation. In snippets of reflection, Millman asks us to look north for answers to many of the questions we all hold, literally, in our hands.

How do we find a way to exist equitably in the world without exhausting our natural and cultural resources? Exploring how to create belonging, among both human and nonhuman animals, is our essential work. Parents have the added responsibility of conveying this charge to their children in a way that centers hope and empowerment over guilt and fear.

In Satellite, Simmons Buntin delves into the idea of belonging—in place, time, family, and community—in sixteen essays written over nearly two decades. The pieces range throughout the desert Southwest, on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border, and as far afield as Mount Saint Helens, eastern Montana, northern Vermont, Sweden, and even the moon (if a telescope atop Kitt Peak counts). Buntin examines the beauty and challenges of raising a family and creating more sustainable communities in the Sonoran Desert—and, more broadly, in any of America’s diverse cultural and ecological landscapes. How should community be defined? How do we protect heritage in an age of globalization? How do we find renewal following personal and place-based trauma? What forms may grace take, and how can parents pass that dignity on to their children?

Fortunately, it is a responsibility both shared and rewarding, funny and phenomenal, for at every turn there is a new discovery, a new insight, a new integration between ourselves and the world that culminates, when we succeed, in a vibrant sense of place. Buntin searches for a balance between the built and natural environments and the beings that inhabit them in a way that enables us not only to survive but to thrive together.

As our treatment of nonhuman animals is increasingly implicated in planetary crises—from climate change to global pandemics to unprecedented rates of biodiversity loss and species extinction—it’s clear that an urgent reconsideration of our relationship to other animals is not only necessary but overdue.

How we write about animals, how we represent them in our poems and stories, doesn’t simply reflect how we relate to them in the world; it also shapes how we treat them. Any cultural shift in how we conceive of other animals requires a shift in how we read and write about them. The New Sentience seeks to help catalyze this shift by ushering in a new kind of animal poetry, what editors Ashley Capps and Allison Titus dub “kinpoetics.” Whereas animals in Western poetry have disproportionately functioned as symbols, the poems in this anthology foreground a meaningful awareness of animal sentience and subjectivity, depicting other animals as individuals with dynamic selfhood, personalities, and emotional lives.

Stylistically wide-ranging, the poets featured here, among them Wendell Berry, Lucille Clifton, E. E. Cummings, Mary Oliver, Ross Gay, and Margaret Atwood, apply scrutinous lyrical attention to the animal experience in such surprising and illuminating ways that the reader can’t avoid an earnest reexamination of what humans owe our more-than-human kin. With humility, empathy, and curiosity, the work in this anthology reaffirms the vital connections between humans, animals, and the natural world. This pioneering book will impel readers to a deeper understanding of the lives of the creatures that share our planet and will inspire poets and writers to a more compassionate, meaningful engagement with animal subjects and lives.

Leonardo da Vinci was obsessed with water. The famed Italian Renaissance artist meticulously drew every aspect of rivers, from the nature of water drops to the ways currents create and destroy the earth’s surface. His obsession led him to become a professional hydraulic engineer and an expert on the physics of water. He disproved Aristotle’s 1,800-year-old theory of the water cycle and developed the one we use today. He discovered the nature of erosion and heretically disproved the biblical flood. He created beautiful maps and drawings of river currents and of his audacious plans to reroute the Arno River for war and peace.

It is obvious to David Ladensohn, who has been fly-fishing for forty years, that Leonardo would have made the perfect fishing guide. The artist’s keen sense of humor and winning personality would have made him a wonderful companion. He knew more about how rivers work than any person before him and would have been outstanding at reading the water to figure out where the fish are. Beginning with Leonardo’s remarkable biography—from underprivileged child to celebrity whose company was sought by competing rulers in Italy and France—and taking readers through the inspirations that led him to fall in love with waterways, Ladensohn makes the connection between the artist’s life and his own deep knowledge of the art of fly-fishing. His adventures have led him to seek out the most unique, storied, and traveled fly-fishing locales in the world, including Argentina, Mexico, Cuba, Bhutan, Italy, Slovenia, Australia, Canada, New Zealand, Brazil, Costa Rica, Bahamas, Ireland, England, and Mongolia.

Ladensohn's research on Leonardo led him to native rivers in Italy to scholars at Oxford and the inside of Windsor Castle, where he studied the finest of Leonardo’s original water drawings. The illustrations, which remain little known even today, are reproduced here in color, many for the first time. Fly-Fishing with Leonardo da Vinci is meant to inform and entertain anyone interested in the artist or fly-fishing and their unlikely intersection.

The six stories in Outside showcase Barry Lopez’s majestic talent as a fiction writer. Lopez writes in spare prose, but his narratives resonate with an uncanny power. With a reverence for our exterior and interior landscapes, these stories offer profound insight into the relationships between humans and animals, creativity and beauty, and, ultimately, life and death. Again and again, whether describing a Navajo rug possessing the essence of its maker, a boy who can change places with his half-coyote dog (named Leaves), or a teacher whose presence brings into question the meaning of friendship, Lopez portrays elemental and sacred places. His prose transcends its simplicity to enter spaces of wonder and mystery. As James Perrin Warren says in his compelling introduction, “Lopez’s narrators bear witness to extraordinary patterns and purposes . . . The storyteller is vital to the community and to a healthy landscape, but the vital relationship is also reciprocal. . . . We participate, along with Lopez, in the long history of storytelling. We become part of the atmosphere in which wisdom shows itself.”