As the sun set a few nights ago, my colleagues and our creative writing students gathered around the campfire for spooky tales. An early-1900s family copy of Grimm’s was read from. S’mores were toasted while Hansel and Gretel outsmarted the witch. The bat flying overhead was interested in bugs, not us. The surveillance drone way way overhead was more interested in us, but we ignored it as hard as we could. As the crisp night took over, you could see the constellations over the lake. People went home happy. It felt good to dig in the dirt when it was time to extinguish the fire. We’re making it an annual tradition, I hope.

A few days later, environmental biologist Robin Wall Kimmerer was a special guest at our university. The author of Braiding Sweetgrass did not sugar coat the fact that we were living in an age of extinction. She cited our historic loss of birds. In fact, nearly 3 billion birds have gone since 1970.

Now, my partner is rather obsessed with Merlin, the bird recognition app from Cornell’s Lab of Ornithology. We’ve identified so much biodiversity just around our home and the thought of it disappearing is exactly as devastating as it sounds. How much longer before the trees go silent? Maybe it’s because we’ve fostered a personal connection to nature (even while using technology to deepen our curiosity) we are more likely to see the desperate need for conservation and intervention in the status quo.

Robin Wall Kimmerer has started an initiative to speak to that need. It’s called Plant Baby Plant. The goal is gather research that educates us in better behaviors, but also to create partnerships dedicated to people and communities seeking to reverse the destruction of nature. Robin Wall Kimmerer’s wisdom and her ability to connect to personal storytelling has managed to rekindle a bit of hope for our troubled times.

I’d like to share a little more hope with you in this particular Fall edition of microstories and poems. Each piece connected me to places and people that I’d never met before and yet in some cases felt instantly familiar. Many brought me closer to nature or the nature of humanity. We begin our issue with an urban haiku from Richard Risemberg, then Nicole Desjardins Gowdy‘s folktale gauntlet, Jamie Carros’ own digging in the dirt, Lynn Kozlowski’s moment without moonlight, while Karen Crawford reveals the real secret, Halima Abukar endures sensory overload, Angelica Roman finds inspiration in an absence that’s too close to home, and finally Sarp Sozdinler encounters those who never ever ever sleep.

Oh and I almost forgot… I can very much vouch for vegan marshmallows. Maybe I’ll see you at next year’s gathering!

JR Walsh 
Micros Editor