Of course I remembered the name Dick Boac, he worked at Martin Guitars as an “archivist,” a Falstaff type. But I couldn’t remember anything more about him because he was John’s friend, and John died more than 10 years ago… Read More ›
existentialism
“Because this moment simply is”
All night long the pitter-patter of rain like microwave popcorn popping in a bag.
Let’s move to the country
The night falls in pink tones. Streams of pink-gold through the trees, the sound of a newscaster in the other room, a ticking clock. My blanket and the bell from the cat’s collar. Cherry blossoms weighting down the boughs. Moments… Read More ›
“No one really about”
How the bell around the cat’s neck grates as she rubs her neck against the concrete. And we stopped caring so much about the cleanliness in our house. Which is counterintuitive because we were all home now all of the… Read More ›
More news from nowhere
Lily practices the piano with her teacher on FaceTime and asks if he can teach her the song River, by Joni Mitchell.
Days, leaves, light
How the days unfurled unexpected and just hung there in the light.
The view from my window
But if you put yourself in the eyes of the audience would it change what you do onstage?
“Between thought and expression there lies a lifetime”
In the early morning before the sun comes up we sit in the dark with a candle and our coffees and ask how the other one slept. Letting the dog out and standing in the fog, hurrying back in beneath… Read More ›
“The things they carried”
It is a small but very precious part of me hanging in our front window.
Quiet choir for midwinter mornings
The end of the world or start of a weekend when everyone’s away.
Bill Pearse 