Issue 518 | The Sun Magazine

February 2019

Readers Write

Guests

A mysterious presence, a troupe of anarchists, a nocturnal visitor​

By Our Readers
One Nation, Indivisible

February 2019

Featuring Danusha Veronica Goska, Kathleen Dean Moore, Van Jones, and more.

The Dog-Eared Page

The First Morning

I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with a nonhuman world and yet somehow survives still intact, individual, separate. Paradox and bedrock.

By Edward Abbey
Quotations

Sunbeams

Natural law is the highest law, and it would be folly to figure that you can outwit natural law.

Winona LaDuke

The Sun Interview

Before It’s Too Late

Mary Christina Wood On Avoiding Climate Disaster

Our choice is clear: ignore the crisis and be swept up in a cycle of accelerating disaster, or manage a rapid decline of fossil-fuel use to avert the worst.

By Mary DeMocker
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Girl Underwater

I was not afraid of alligators or snakes. I swam past them with some vague feeling that I was safer in the water with these creatures than on land with the humans.

By Heather Sellers
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The Wild Dogs Of Hong Kong

I soon found out that the reservoir was where some locals dumped their unwanted dogs. I was there one afternoon with Sofia when a well-dressed woman stepped from a Mercedes and opened the back door.

By Sarah Vallance
Fiction

What Will You Save Today?

“What are you going to do with it?” Nan whispers. “Do with what?” asks the boy who stole the vial. “I saw you,” Nan says. “I’m going to swallow it,” he says. His eyes are wide and a little disturbing. “Why?” Nan asks. “I want a horse inside of me,” he says.

By Debbie Urbanski
Poetry

Walking At Night

Sometimes the horses grazing / in the nearby pastures come to the fence / and we talk. Or I do, and they seem to listen.

By Elizabeth Poliner
Poetry

Nature Is Strong

Put a bald truck tire in the top of a cypress tree in Florida / and soon an osprey will arrive to build its roost / of sharp dry twigs and torn-up winter grass.

By Tony Hoagland