The other day, being the great dog-owner that I am, I offered my dog Bullet a chance to go to the dump with me. He was all excited to jump in the car—mostly because he thought we were about to go on a hike. I was hopeful, though, because he always makes me feel so…
Author: Matt Larson
With my first book, 4000s by 40, released this fall, I am fulfilling a lifelong dream of writing, and am excited to continue the journey of storytelling with future projects—so much so that the day after I published 4000s by 40, I began my next work.
Much of my inspiration comes from nature. My early love for the ocean, found on the South Shore of Massachusetts, has transitioned into a deep passion for the mountains here in New Hampshire, and I wanted to share that with my first book.
If you’d like to connect or have any inquiries, you can reach out to me at [email protected]. I’m also on Instagram and Facebook at wanderingmatt8. Happy reading!
Side Quest: Redlining the Wapack Trail
It’s good to have projects. Some are more deliberate, like my decision to pursue the 52 With A View peaks this year, and some are a little looser—like my side quest to redline the Wapack Trail, which only occurred to me a week or two ago. The Wapack Trail, if you’re not familiar with it,…
These Guys Were Nuts
Reading Bernadette McDonald’s “Winter 8000” There are too many names and facts to fully process in Bernadette McDonald’s Winter 8000. By the end of the first couple of chapters, my head was dizzy trying to keep it all straight. But regardless of the climbers’ names, or the 8000-meter peak they climbed, there is a recurring…
Where Footprints End
Word came in, not from the news but our phones,
messages for which we cannot atone.
Our latest failure, a new agony
born from an enemy we fail to see.
It’s strange to me, for long before this pain,
when I thought Providence, I thought of rain—
the kind that eats through three layers of skin,
probing ’til it finds some bone to live in.
But that was all weather-induced, of course—
not from an ill man, exhibiting force.
An uncanny stretch where every visit
brought forth the clouds, but nothing illicit.