Stories, threads, and ideas—mostly about places.
Big Birch Lake
We are sitting on that low stone wall above the sandy shore. The full moon hanging above our heads casts a soft glow on your face and a lively sparkle on the calm waters that spread into inky blackness before us. The boat ride over was a bacchanal, and we're still wet from the dip we all took as we crossed the sandbar.
The digital detritus does not decompose
In the credenza across the room is a drawer filled with old laptops and iPads. I can't let them go.
The sewing room
I've always been what is kindly called an "old soul," with a deep exploratory instinct and a fascination with objects and artifacts that help make sense of the confounding world around me.
Everything eventually renews
There's this term, "seasonal affective disorder," that's always seemed a bit off to me (even as it definitely afflicts me). It's the disorder jammed on the end there, as if being affected - even in significant ways - by seasonal changes isn't perfectly human.
County Road 4
That morning I drove it in reverse, back into town, a faint light already on the horizon, all four windows down, cool misty summer air keeping me awake, making me alive. I knew, somehow, all of this couldn’t last.