May
24
2017
Chance of a Thunderstorm
Wednesday
High 69° / Low 55°
Chance of Rain
Thursday
High 67° / Low 53°

The Moment After Section :: Page 3

  • BLOG— Noticing 101

    My favorite glimpse was a blaze of forsythia growing up between two dark-clad Norway spruces. The spruces have always reminded me of a certain kind of minister or undertaker, while the yolky yellow interlude was like a kid’s laughter in a stern church.

  • BLOG— The love that is the world

    I do know that light enters at odd times. I’ve experienced it. I do know that the eye finds light — co-creates it — and so the cosmic keyhole that separated and joined the star and my eye tonight was a necessary contrivance of both.

  • BLOG— It’s my birthday! (Shhh…)

    Somehow “it’s her birthday” will be stamped on my forehead, or written in the sky with a big sky-arrow pointing down. Does this border on a sort of pleasant paranoia, a birthday persecution complex? It might.

  • BLOG— Hungering to be known

    Astronomy is a mystery to me, but the fact that the full moon sets just behind Joe’s house — that’s easy to understand. If I were the moon, traveling alone all night, I would take my rest there, too.

  • BLOG— Waking up to spring

    It’s still February, a strange and diffident month. It’s a little scared of its own boldness, so ducks its head, like the snowdrops, and calls down the snow.

  • BLOG— Feeling more free

    Matching my gait to my thoughts (or was it the other way around?), I realized that one part of freedom was what I was experiencing right then: the removal of arbitrary constraints.

  • BLOG— Remnant and portent

    A winter garden holds as much spring as spring itself, the way the pause before speech holds as much speech as the flow of words that follows.

  • BLOG— Fresh starts

    Are fresh starts really possible? Three weeks after the annual big one — the new door of Jan. 1 — the question seems urgent. This is the time of year when I teeter between hope and despair.

  • BLOG— The radical reality of snow

    Snow is an artist of great attention. Overnight, it drew perfect circles on the rims of our empty flowerpots. It chalked a fat line across the pitchfork’s handle, and dusted every rusty tine.

  • BLOG— Another year by

    Time, is that you knocking? At the door this time, Time, three sharp raps from the oldest knuckles in the world. Another year by, Time? Really? Why, I remember you at last year’s door.

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