poetry
everything never stops singing the tulips are down to their last chorus the apple blossoms are just coming in on the descant the bleeding hearts hum in the shade and the chive flowers translate melody to fragrance when they hit the hot skillet the endless blue sky sings of long
poetry
the shape of what is not there I’m not sure why this seems to be the week for a mutual meltdown but there is a tsunami of tension even the schnauzers are surly they know the whole thing has gone to the dogs as we say and they resent
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One of the things that has surprised me about myself during these days of quiet isolation is growing disdain for Zoom. Part of it, I’m sure, is that I have to use Go to Meeting for work, which is its own special brand of hell, but there’s more
recipes
One of the windfalls of our unfortunate isolation is I am cooking a lot more. The combination of having more time and Ginger not having meetings twelve nights a month means we get to eat dinner together. The last week in particular my depression has decided to show up for
recipes
During the first spring we lived in Guilford, we were surprised to see them set up a big stage in the middle of the town green (the largest in New England and designed by Frederick Law Olmstead), along with rows and rows of folding chairs, for Guilford High School graduation.
poetry
key change I grew up singing in church hymns haunted by harmony what a fellowship what a joy ye who are weary come home those songs taught me that congregations are contagious that love is highly infectious and compassion communicable singing they say spreads the virus our deep comfort commandeered
poetry
air and water it is a postcard night in our little town the honey-pink sunset riding in on the breeze I followed the schnauzers home from our walk to find a security guard was shot to death at a Family Dollar Store in Flint, Michigan because he asked someone to
poetry
daily digest these are the stay close to home dig in the dirt string up the lights I planned to string years ago days the work from home walk the dogs again wear a mask to the store go too long without a hug days the go to bed tired
poetry
maybe it doesn’t get better you may not have read past the title but hear me out-- we can’t do what we are doing just because we think this won’t last and we can get back to the way things were maybe it doesn’t get better
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The seed of this post was planted when I sent a friend a video of Jason Isbell and the $00 Unit singing “24 Frames” from isolation. As I mentioned last night, he is one of my favorite songwriters. The title of the song refers to the number of frames that
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When I lived in Texas, I loved the annual art show put on by the bluebonnets across fields and highway medians; it is one of the most beautiful sights I know. They are long gone by now. April in Texas is early summer. In New England, we are still wearing
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The subtitle to David Whyte’s book Consolations is The Solace, Nourishment, and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words. One of the words he unpacks is Istanbul. Though it makes me want to go find my They Might Be Giants CDs, I have never thought of Istanbul--the city or the word--as