Tag Archives: pacific northwest

Reserving the giblets

I drank an ale and made the gravy. The gravy was to be made over several hours the book said. Outside it was gray and Dawn said look at that rain. It hadn’t been raining before, it just started, so … Continue reading

Posted in prose | Tagged , , , , , , | 14 Comments

The jagged blades the thin white veil

In the gray¬†light of morning the thin grass blades turned brown beneath the snow, the barn in the back, the sound of the heat through the vents, the coffeemaker, the keys clicking like teeth when I type: here, they all … Continue reading

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Light a candle for now

After the wind storm I came downstairs and looked outside. The stars were out, the moon the shape of a hook, it seemed like it was just full. I lit some candles and made coffee. All this going back to … Continue reading

Posted in musings, prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Dead souls soliloquy (for Archie Loss)

The cat is all business, can be found in the morning by the garage door flap like a killer in the shadows waiting in the dark for anything trying to get inside. Dawn remarked, there’s mouse innards in the utility … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Mid-autumn snow in the foothills

Overnight the rain turned to snow and in the morning, made the lawns wet and patchy looking, the tree limbs bent back like bow strings. I drove Lily to the Park & Ride then walked down to the lake, remembering … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

The Famous Golden Larch

I don’t know what it is about me and hats, but I keep losing mine. There was the green Irish cap I got in a small, West Cork town: I wrote the name inside the rim (SKIBBEREEN 12-15) to mark … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Song for mid-autumn morning

In the morning just past 6, though it might as well be the middle of the night. Headlights cut the dark, but it always grows back. The fog gives an illusion of light through the ambiguity it stirs, makes snow … Continue reading

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , | 16 Comments