A now-vanished newsstand held the seeds of understanding ambiguity.
Those who take on battles they know they may not win.
I like nothing so much as that for which I’m not looking.
Today – quarantine notwithstanding – you have a guest.
We each have our literary bug-out bag. What does yours hold?
It’s a strange thing to be glad of losing something.
Memories in a cup of peach tea.
When words and world well up, dark as silt…
I woke up at 3 a.m. from a restless dream of trying to remember where I’d stored my childhood Easter decorations.
Massachusetts springtime, Indiana summer – where am I again?