Tag Archives: Bob Dylan

Six days in the bush, Pacific Northwest style

Posted on August 21, 2017 by

    I came to the bridge above the river, the one described in the guidebook. I’d taken a picture of it last time but it was only a green braid in the gray canyon rock, reduced down to that. … Continue reading →

Posted in hiking, Memoir, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 28 Comments

First light for August

Posted on August 1, 2017 by

The plane resembled a bird in the sky, reflecting back in the lake. There were a few on the dock fishing, spread out to give each other space. They were all having their moments with the lake, the morning light. … Continue reading →

Posted in prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

‘That you’re tired of yourself and all of your creations’

Posted on April 4, 2017 by

I hung the hammock out back on the ponderosas, tried to rest but couldn’t, drove to West Seattle to meet Anthony and Mike for Sunday beers. We got a letter they’re moving forward with the project next door, to tear … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, musings, parenting | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

‘Most likely you go your way and I’ll go mine’

Posted on April 2, 2017 by

We got up. Though it was a Saturday we were out of bed by 6. It was getting grayish out and I wanted to see it. There’s a soft fade in reverse, mornings here. There’s some quiet before the kids … Continue reading →

Posted in humor, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

When you’re lost in the rain in Juarez when it’s Easter time, too

Posted on March 23, 2017 by

I envied Andrew Gabler for all he had that I didn’t have. He wore name-brand clothes, had chestnut-brown hair that shone, was good looking and built, athletic, played soccer better than I did and wrestled (though I always thought wrestling … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

Down the end of Clay Pit road

Posted on November 12, 2016 by

Matted down forest floor, now the leaves have lost their shape and rotting with the rest, the color wicked out no longer distinct, not worth saving in a book. Gray light in the forest, the branches the color of bone, … Continue reading →

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

The 87

Posted on October 21, 2016 by

It’s almost time to go. The body snaps back like the rubber on a slingshot, hangs there limp for what’s next. The clock has a tick too. The cat understands no schedule. The rain has been going all night, it … Continue reading →

Posted in musings, parenting, poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments