Tag Archives: Maxfield Parrish

Wednesday’s twilight anthem

The Jupiter’s Beard is fanned-out pornographic in our front yard, exposed to the root. And the grass is so dead, it’s what Gregg Allman’s beard must have looked like before he died, the same gold-straw color, drawn out thick. It’s … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, musings, prose, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

The denial phase

Dawn and I sat at the top of our yard after we got our things out and talked. I had everything drying in the driveway, the sleeping bags draped over the cars. They didn’t need dried out, I just liked … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, parenting, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Straw-colored grass, a bed of needles

The owl-eyed veterinarian talks too fast, wears her hair in a bun. The bun’s so tight it makes her eyes bulge. It’s always the same, we care about our dog and cat’s health, we start with good intentions. But her … Continue reading

Posted in musings, prose | Tagged , , , , , , | 29 Comments

‘Where the shadows run from themselves’

I got back in the slot, the cafeteria salad bar at work, tonged some shredded carrots, spinach, diced beets…made a modest bird’s nest out of it, weighed it, scanned my card, picked a two-top by the windows and started in. … Continue reading

Posted in musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 13 Comments