Oct
23
2017
Chance of Rain
Monday
High 63° / Low 46°
Chance of Rain
Tuesday
High 51° / Low 40°

The Moment After Section :: Page 2

  • BLOG— Infinite cathedral

    There’s no problem the wind and rain can’t solve, even the November wind and rain. The wind and rain can’t name the problem, can’t diagnose it, can’t prescribe, yet they can, shall we say, dissolve it.

  • BLOG— Get brave and speak

    Trembling in my car as I was ordered to leave the Speedway campus on the night after an upsetting, disorienting and momentous election, I realized: I am afraid, so afraid, to speak up, not just to the man in the fluorescent vest, but really to anyone who may not like what I have to say.

  • BLOG— On Trump’s triumph

    In the wee hours of Wednesday morning, the words of a fine Norwegian poet came to mind: “It’s not all as evil as you think.”

  • BLOG— Intimate strangers

    I don’t make a habit of riding around town at dusk, but maybe I should! The rewards are subtle. I’m not looking for anything exotic from my fellow villagers, just plain life. A woman at a sink. A man in a chair, inspecting his glasses.

  • BLOG— Hello, season of good-bye

    Fall is slightly seedy, a tad disreputable. There’s that whiff of decay, of course, and the distinct and accurate sense that things are coming apart at the seams. Fall is a thrift-store velvet jacket, wine-stained purple, with your elbows showing through.

  • BLOG— In sorrow and in joy

    They got married in a garden bordering an old-growth forest. I love the symbolism of that. Their lives are theirs to cultivate, and I have no doubt they will grow a good garden together.

  • BLOG— The power of neighbors

    What’s a neighbor? Someone you live near. Someone you’ve likely not chosen to live near, but do. Your neighbor may grow to be your best friend. But most neighbor relationships are probably less soul-close than proximity-practical.

  • BLOG— Of fireflies, stars and time

    I could stay out here all night, looking at the white stars, the golden fireflies, the dark shadows against the dark house. Everything I see prompts the question, Are you seeing this, are you really seeing this? I want to see; it feels like knowing, which feels like living.

  • BLOG— Remembering Long Pond

    Long Pond was a lake, despite its name. It hung like a particularly wet piece of laundry on the line that was Moose River. The river fed the lake, and the lake, nine miles later, fed the river. Long Pond was a pause in the river’s flow — the river putting up its feet and taking a break.

  • BLOG— Bike path poet

    The best poem I’ll ever write is the one I’ll never write. It’s the one I’ll write only in my head, under the influence of bicycling, which apparently is for me as potent as the more illicit highs other writers have pursued for inspiration.

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