Matthew Dyer

I’ve lived in the state of Maine (USA) my whole life, most of it on the edge of towns. I’m not sure how much I really appreciated rural existence until I started writing in that weird space afforded by the Covid pandemic. The writing process helped me explore and understand myself, my culture, and the world around me. I’ve come to realize there’s not a lot of space between humans and the things that live in fields, forests, and waters. We’re exchanging the same air, water and minerals out here on the edge of the Milky Way.

As I write this, a snowstorm is raging outside. Last time I visited the bog was on New Year’s Eve. Across the frozen fields and down into the bog all was brown and gray and still, seemingly lifeless. But under the ice and snow, I know the bog is alive with ferment. All the grasses and mosses, the insects, the amphibians, the fiddlehead ferns, hackmatacks, alders, and countless seeds and spores are waiting to explode into summer.