October rain ebbs and flows and falls and falls and falls on the crooked pine trees and the roof, on the old swing set and the black driveway, on the cold, wet burn barrel and the American flag at the hundred year old house on Shady Lane where my parents live still. In the basement, … More The Disobedience of Rain
A pied-billed grebe has already paddled madly halfway across this cove (its crested head sporting a half-hearted mohawk, its body a sputtering vector moving toward the northwest, Lake Superior swollen like a too-observant eye) before I realize that it has darted out from under this porch that hangs over the water where I stand holding … More Somewhere, Another (The Pied Billed Grebe)
On the last Saturday of my 40s, I drive alone to Fish Creek to take the Sunset Bike Trail at Peninsula State Park. It occurs to me as I review the map, then fold it into small rectangles and put it into my back pocket, that if I live to be 96, it’s a decade … More 9.6 Miles in September
Fall wind scatters flocks/ Birds and leaves, from branch to sky/ Have we stem, or wing?
Driving toward the river in the new autumn dark, (carload of cheese and bread and plans, clean towels and swimsuits that won’t be used, a guitar, a bike, assumptions and wine) Winking lights ahead cast a curious spell on my watchful eyes, Blinking from what I daylight know to be the country cemetery; Solar … More Night Picnic, Wallace, MI