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• BLOG— Birding is easy!

  By Audrey HackettDecember 1, 2015

  

  For me, though, the heron was the total heart-throb, the show-stopper, the bird of birds. His rosy neck and blue-grey shoulders rippled like water; he was water flying over water, an awesome feat of paint and metaphysics.

• BLOG— Starry, starry thoughts

  By Audrey HackettNovember 10, 2015

  

  What is it about space and death? Our human lives are so small, so brief. We’re mayflies born to live one day, or one second, or not even one, in cosmic time.

• BLOG— Vote! Vote! Vote!

  By Audrey HackettNovember 3, 2015

  

  The first time I headed to the polls, I was six. It was 1980, a watershed year in national politics, and my elementary school held a mock-contest among the three candidates.

• BLOG— Alive in Bechtlandia

  By Audrey HackettOctober 27, 2015

  

  Finally, hunched over in supplication, I practically clawed at the next Docker-clad salesperson I saw and got the beautiful specificity of “aisle nine.” At that moment, no words in the English language were more splendid. Aisle nine. Possibly the world’s shortest, most perfect poem.

• BLOG— Leaf-fall morning

  By Audrey HackettOctober 20, 2015

  

  The world is always on the verge of being something else. Call it the temple/missile effect. I think the world’s drawn double, like an optical illusion.

• BLOG— Street Fairy magic

  By Audrey HackettOctober 13, 2015

  

  Ahead in the dimness, I heard bells. A belly dancer was jingling my way, still costumed and ringing from wrist to ankle. She smiled as she passed, enjoying the sleigh-bell sound of her own trot, I think.

• BLOG— Down the rabbit hole

  By Audrey HackettOctober 6, 2015

  

  My legs were pumping at a rate that suggested the Rabbit’s “I’m late, I’m late!” more than the dreamy, psychedelically mellowed Caterpillar. Every time I noticed how fast I was going, I slowed down. That’s all you can really do: notice, and let your grip go.

• BLOG— Do I repeat myself?

  By Audrey HackettSeptember 29, 2015

  

  More reliably than memory, writing holds the trace of who you were and are. Often this is talked about in terms of measuring the distance between the two.

• BLOG— Scenes from an interview

  By Audrey HackettSeptember 22, 2015

  

  She paused. I paused. Ross seemed to read my mind, or my raised eyebrows. “Yup, raw fish in the blender.” It was an ordinary kitchen blender, I saw later. Perfect for fish frappes!

• BLOG— Refusing to bend

  By Audrey HackettSeptember 15, 2015

  

  Suppleness, or its lack, is on my mind, and not just because the world is experiencing its annual arteriosclerosis. Change, any change, triggers in me a sort of panic.