West to Goose Lake
We are made for this. We are made from this. We are this. West to Goose Lake October 28, 2021 . [ 1273 ]
We are made for this. We are made from this. We are this. West to Goose Lake October 28, 2021 . [ 1273 ]
A few light strokes / on skin / you first / thought / was paper October 28, 2021 . [ 1272 ]
Snow in the churchyard and you giving your old black coat to a stranger frozen and still its weight on his shoulders known only to him his wings showing through his joy again Recently Banned Literature, December 26, 2013 . [ 1271 ]
I don’t remember the year. But I was quite small. The gift was a word. I’m unwrapping it still. Recently Banned Literature, December 25, 2013 . [ 1270 ]
There is a seam in my glass mug, but no hem and no zipper. What holds the two edges together? What keeps the neck from raveling? The mug is wearing a glistening pendant with transparent chain: A bead of moisture suspended, a sweet drop of rain. Her skin is the color of coffee: trembling, scented, reflective. There is conversation: memory: faded print, falling away. October 25, 2021 . [ 1268 […]
In the canyon this morning, we were passed in small groups by three or four dozen runners preparing for trail events in November. Their ages spanned decades, and they were all happy, friendly, and smiling, and courteous to those of us walking, giving us ample warning of their approach from behind, thanking us when we had already noticed them coming and had stepped out of their way, and telling us […]
Early yesterday afternoon, like a feathered storm, a swarm of bushtits settled briefly in the juniper, then moved to the dahlias, where, in communal glee, they hopped and pecked their way from joint to joint along the branches and stems as if they were attending a fall smorgasbord. Their visit lasted about five of our human earth minutes. Part of it took place within my reach, as I stood motionless […]
If I had no knowledge of clocks and calendars, how old would I be? If there were no one to tell me, would I be any age at all? But I do know. And since I do, I ask myself how this knowledge has shaped me. Has it limited my understanding? Has it expanded it? Has it done neither, or both? Moreover, I did not seek this knowledge. Like so […]
Perhaps the oldest language is the one spoken by the body to its conscious inhabitant. And all that is needed to understand it, is a willingness to listen. To habitually ignore or purposefully misconstrue what the body says causes an unnecessary battle that cannot be won. The body speaks only the truth, and cannot be fooled. Its memory, moreover, is perfect. And yet, at every turn, its kindness is revealed. […]
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