And just like that: Autumn

It arrived with that kind of grey rain that settles in for a few days, so you just have to settle with it. I was out all day Sunday and into the night; eight miles of walking in the rain, and when I got home the apartment was clammy like when it rains at a… Continue reading And just like that: Autumn

Summer hid a whetstone in the slender paths between cornstalks

My brother and Seneca in the ring while I was up at the Farm in July. Summer! It’s been too hot. It’s rained a lot. It’s been busy with work, and (half Fridays notwithstanding) I’ve still not gone on a date with the Atlantic Ocean. Haven’t cycled as much as I’d like. But it’s been… Continue reading Summer hid a whetstone in the slender paths between cornstalks

Montmartre— in light and dark

Montmartre— dans la lumière et l'obscurité These are photos from our first afternoon in Paris. It stayed light til 8:30. Now, you know, I've been dreaming of the trip— now that it's over. As I did before it was born. Friday was two weeks since we left for farther shores. It went by fast and… Continue reading Montmartre— in light and dark

Winter itself is exhausted; kicks and screams against its scheduled retreat nonetheless

I think the original title of this was A sick thing upon the rocks in the very early morning. It's from when I was a teenager in college. (I think the sketch that precipitated this ink drawing originated during an acid trip; that coming down feeling—) As I see it now, looking through the archive,… Continue reading Winter itself is exhausted; kicks and screams against its scheduled retreat nonetheless

Summer swords

In summer my fingernails grow like weeds— just grow and grow and there’s no stopping them. All that vitamin d; sunlight so I have to clip, trim, file. Sand down the edges that snag on my shirt or a neighboring nail. They’re long now, but instead of cutting, clipping, reigning in, I have the urge… Continue reading Summer swords


People disappear Sometimes all of a sudden without warning. Sometimes gradually like sunset on the longest day of the year, or how long it takes some trees to become naked in the face of oncoming winter. One way is like hitting a brick wall. The other is more torturous. An ongoing awareness tracing the slow… Continue reading Leave(s)

Color shift, mood shift

The wind in the trees at night in October sounds like all the silent wishes of dreams, rushing to be first in line.


Waning of summer month, end of beach weather month. Back to work and back to school month. Memory— no A pattern, died in the wool. Buckled-up books, backpacks, cardigans. Skirts and stockings and closed-up shoes that suddenly feel too tight. Early rising, hasty breakfasting— Tie your shoes and Don’t forget your lunch and The bus… Continue reading September

Lengthening shadows of late summer

Each successive month of summer leaves us in its wake faster than the previous— longing for 9:30 sunsets, never quite knowing what time it is for the wanton excess of sunlight. This summer has held some challenges and sad moments, a couple more of which I learned about on Sunday. 2016 has been an unstable year, and  persistently so.… Continue reading Lengthening shadows of late summer

Late Spring

Coming through the window— BBQ, coal fires, wood fires. And in the sky's dome, the incandescent moon, waxing. A reflection of infinity can fit on the rim of a teacup.