Spit mixed with dirt – Muddy words flow
One afternoon at the beach, I met with a murder (or mob… I think I prefer mob…) of crows. I flew amongst their midst and was accepted. *No audio, it was such a windy day all you could hear on the video was wind.
tara caribou | ©2021 video by me
Hi friends, today I have twenty close-up photos for your pleasure. I hope you enjoy them.

















tara caribou | ©2021
Everybody around me seems to constantly be going, going, going. Looking at their phones. Talking non-stop with no pauses or thoughtful reflection. Working on and off the clock. Even sitting at the table or on the couch in the evening, television turned on the big screen and the little hand-held devices powered up…
“I’m writing,” she says in a clipped tone, her fingers barely pausing in their rapid dance across worn-down grey keys. Of course she is. She always is. If she’s not writing, she’s painting, if she’s not painting, she’s sketching, sketching becomes graphic design, graphic design becomes writing… I begin to wonder where I fit into her world.
“What about?”
“You.” Clickety-clickety-click.
“….And…?” my wrist rolls around and around, hoping to conjure more depth. She doesn’t pause.
“You mentioned something last night, got me….” tappedy-tappedy-tap “..got me thinking. Not important…” her voice trails off and I know she’s far too deep inside her own head to hear another word.
Still I try again. “I got some great shots of the high tide this afternoon…. the kelp was churning in the waves… maybe,” I soldier on to the drumbeat of rapid key clicks, raise my voice a little, “maybe you’ll come with me tomorrow? I could photograph you with the sun in your hair…”
“mmmhhmm,” she hums, not fully committed.
She’s beautiful. She doesn’t believe me when I tell her that either. It’s only the art, the creating, that matters. It’s all in the beholder’s eyes. Except when it comes to her and me.
“I love you,” I say quietly. The desk lamp makes her hair glow, not as gloriously as in the setting sun, but still…. a strand has loosened itself from her bun and rests on her shoulder, soft as a feather. The moment lengthens as I gaze at her, brow slightly furrowed, chewing her lip, fingers flying, her foot tapping to some internal metronome. I wonder what I said last night. I wonder what she thinks about it. I wonder what she’s writing. I recall the kelp thrown against the rocks, lifeless now in winter, broken to pieces, helpless and at the mercy of the cold relentless waves. The moment had stretched on and on, just like this one.
I turn and walk out of the room, picking up my camera as I pass it. The waves are beckoning. Just before the front door closes, I hear her say distractedly, “…hmm? What was that, babe?”
I wonder what I said as well.
tara caribou | ©2021
Flash fiction inspired by the video.
It’s no secret I’m a night owl. I could probably count the number of sunrises I’ve actually seen on two hands… I might be exaggerating, because where I live here in Alaska in summer, sunrise and sunset aren’t too far apart. I’ve been awake to witness the rise about the time I’m going to sleep…
I hope you enjoy twenty of some of my favorite photogenic sunsets.




















Thanks for hanging out,
tara caribou | ©2021
All photos taken by me. Also, I apologize if some are repeats from previous posts, I don’t always remember which I’ve used on not. 😌
It was cold. Really cold. In fact, it hadn’t been over negative Fahrenheit for over a month, and it was only January. Winter lasts a long time in Alaska. It would be another two months before it would raise past single digits. Just a few days prior I had suffered a traumatic physical experience which saw me in shock and bleeding without stopping for hours, which turned into days.
I was weak. Body and soul. I was hurting. I was alienated. I needed to get outside. Let nature touch me as only it can. I was driven to the beach at my request and out I clambered of the truck, ice and negative degrees be damned.
Typically, the waves are crashing on my beach but today, it was calm. So calm and quiet. The sea water was freezing. Laying micro-thin layers and layers of ice on the sand, rocks, coal, and sticks which litter the beach. On top of the gently moving water was a thin layer of ice as well, though this was broken into small sheets with the movement constantly mushing them together and breaking them apart. These ice rafts varied in size and sat just slightly below the surface.
It was divine. It was magic. It was healing. I squatted near the edge of the high-tide mark, looking out at it all. Trying not to breathe in too deep because it was so cold in my lungs. Tears ran down my cheeks and they burned and froze.
Questions flooded my mind. Why do these things happen? What if….? Gratefulness, in spite of it all. I will be okay. But what if…? No point in obsessing. Look around. It’s so damn beautiful. I’ve never seen the beach just like this. And tomorrow it will be different. It will be the same. But it will be different. Like me. Tomorrow is a new day. I will never be who I was yesterday again.
I am the same. I am different.
tara caribou | ©2021
*video and story are mine from this same time last year. My how the days and months roll on…
Wait up, hold up, it’s 20 of my favorite photos I took in December. I hope you enjoy.




















tara caribou | ©2021
All images by me.

Raw Earth Ink is proud to announce the release of The Shadows of Blackout Island, a collection of dark fiction short stories.

Inside you’ll find seven horrifying tales which take place on Blackout Island as told by:
Rumors and speculation surround the possible inhabitants of Blackout Island, located just a few miles off the coast. Conspiracy theories abound while social media leaks surface about government experiments gone wrong. Certainly something or someone must live there, for haven’t we all seen the shaky home videos of the occasional wisp of smoke or recordings of eerie sounds carrying far across the water on a calm summer night? Something wicked has been let loose within its depths… And it is time for the truth to be revealed.
Where Junior Officer Jaime discovers the sad reality behind the island’s Wallymoos; where a group of teenagers brave the dark to witness the mysterious actions of the Stump Maker; where a young woman named Eskyl is transformed into mind-controlling siren; and where William pays the ultimate mind-bending price after filling the role of a don’t-ask-don’t-tell Mercury.








In paperback at: lulu, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon.
As eBook at: lulu, Nook, Kobo, and Kindle.
Leave a review at Goodreads.
Collective copyright 2020-23 by Raw Earth Ink
Individual text copyright by contributing authors
Host of the In Three Poems Podcast
3AM Questions that cut back
wode natterings
undone in spectacle
A weight loss journey
Photography and Visual Art by Adam Shurte
Our thoughts define us, so let's focus on a few.
the wild life
Our lives are the words of this book
Our story made the last page of the newspaper. Witnesses said they'd seen a "madwoman with two paint-bombs suddenly appear."
Art, random musings and the occasional inflammatory viewpoint of autistic artist Christopher Hoggins