EDITOR’S NOTE

When Chloe suggested "Blanket: Sounds of Winter" as the theme for our winter issue, I immediately thought of the hush of snow on hemlock as I slid skis along the track set by Shane, Hunter or Herb. The silhouette of their shoulders weaving through the trees above me, climbing up the mountain before us. Occasionally their faces appearing before me as a switchback guided the trail back my way. 

Today, I listen to the rain on the roof and the deep signs of bird dogs sleeping on their beds as I type. And I chew on change. Thinking about how different my winters are now and the change in how winter occurs. So far this is the winter that wasn't. One good storm is all we’ve had. Yesterday, the last day for chukar in Oregon, and I could have been in a t- shirt.  

The chatter of quail pulls my mind to the present. There is a plump and talkative, bright male Valley Quail on the fence outside my window. He is eye level with me and very busy. His flock is working its way through the last remnants of leaves, plucking at green stems of grass which should still be dormant this time of year. 

Is the chatter of quail in green grass the new sounds of winter? 

Or will snow return and blanket us again? 

Maybe the sound of winter is the quiet contemplation the shorter days and longer nights provide.

This issue of Raconteur offers opportunities for just that. 

In Read, poems by Jessica Rounds and Erin Woodward invite us to close our eyes and breathe in landscape to ease our hearts. To Josh Tatman, landscape is a place for past, present, a lost future and hard choices. Wrap yourself in Jesscy Zimmerman's love letter to wool. 

Wander runs you through a dark night and deep woods with poet Erin Kalpin. And contemplates with Erin Woodward aloneness. 

However winter arrives for you, I hope you enjoy it. 

Katie Willis, Founder

Executive Editor and Raconteur