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 ›
pacific northwest
Where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life
An odd day I didn’t get out until the end of it. Got up early and went to bed early. Both times with the birds coming on. That building arc in the morning you can’t not-hear once it starts, but… Read More ›
Filling holes
The firepit, my bloody toe. We slept with all the windows open and it felt like camping. Four years later and we finally moved that mound of soil to the vegetable garden. It takes a global pandemic for us to… Read More ›
I wonder why the wind
The most perfect night. Perfect is a superlative, so it can’t be topped. There’s no “more perfect,” or most perfect, it’s fine on its own, it’s perfect. The first really warm day when everything takes on a different feel. The… Read More ›
“Insignificance”
A new page on the calendar with its tongue hanging out to either tease or taunt us: our insignificance, a new getting through.
“And now, release the giant hornets!”
It’s always something, some locust or beetle or “killer bees.”
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 ›
Back and forth, again
I remember it’s the end of April and think back four years ago, when we came back from Germany.
Like a picture print by Currier and Ives
Dad retreats to the den while the chicken marinates, lights a stick of incense, and helps the dog get a bone out of the basket.
It doesn’t go out like a lamb
They said everyone needs to work from home and the vibe on my floor was a kind of evacuation mode in slow-mo.
Bill Pearse 