“We are always here and always leaving. We are water, like the river, just passing through.” David Budbill I walk the waterfront. A damp wind batters me. The normal crowd is absent. Too cold. An armada of scoters dive near the shore, oblivious to the temperature and rain. Above me, convoys of geese traverse the … More Under the Dying Stars
Dry, pumpkin colored fall: the season to gather apples and grapes. Geese congregate before their flight south. Squirrels store food for winter. The whimsy of Halloween collides with bittersweet autumn. I lean into the tenderness of its melancholy contradictions. If we celebrate the harvest, then we must also accept the reckoning. Autumn cushions the fall … More The Last Bouquet
“All night and all morning the air raid sirens howled. Shells blew up. We ate ice cream.” Olha, a citizen of Ukraine The seasons roll along. March slips into April. Winter melts away. Daffodils laugh a yellow laugh, their roots tickled by the warming earth. Covid comes and goes and comes again. It lurks in … More Springtime in Ukraine
Good Blood, Bad Blood 