A blustery Sunday afternoon, snow falling in fat too-wet-to-stay flakes mixing with slow raindrops more typical of early spring. I'm bundled inside a worn leather booth, warmed by the industrial heater vent above me and the pitcher of boozy lemonade sweating on the table. A lazy hour ticks by and I'm swimming in it now, … Continue reading April 8 : Sunday in Spring
It starts simply enough-- a new thing needs a new home so I scrape the pages and piles from the desk and wipe a rough rag across its face. Then the drum head perched rather precariously above looks like it needs the same attention. As I hang the hand-painted Reaper again on its nail a … Continue reading April 7 : Clean
Shredded pages torn from yellow pads littered next to neatly stacked piles of "To Do," "To File," and "Too Many Questions." A rapid fire Thursday from dawn 'til the quiet moment in a can of cold pasta at my desk. Six deliveries, eight pallets of potting soil, twelve invoices, and one headache, lasting an approximate … Continue reading April 5 : Thursday
Fontana, 4 (Via County Road) It's still night when I cruise-- down the highway's broad curving brushstrokes of dark pavement and rock-strewn shoulders, my car click-click-clicking as I wait for a pair of headlights, shaking and yellowed, to lumber past me before I swing wide onto the county road. I look for the old white … Continue reading April 4 : Fontana, 4 (Via County Road)
(Mercury in Retrograde) "Chaos!" scream the Sky Watchers with their heads tilted back, throats exposed to the rooted knives of the human condition.
Typewriter Moon 