When winter's grasp is released in bedlam streams, and sap enlivens naked trees, a breath of warmth tames feral winds, and birdsong includes new notes that quicken the pulse of…
In my green woolen cape and clunky winter boots, I tore down Main Street this afternoon, when word reached me through a neighbor that the front door of Silvia's house…
On a stone bench, set back slightly from the bustle of the street, rests an old woman reading a three-cent newspaper. Unaccustomed to the liquid warmth of spring light, the…
Neighbor's voices drift vaguely on the cool breeze, punctuated by the sound of car doors clapping shut. Greetings and exclamations join laughter and music, as the smoke from a small…
Powdery flakes complete the whiteness of a blanketed landscape, festooning the firs and stringing garlands of sky on the paper birches. Hoary rooftops puff rounds of smoke, as icicles drip…
Five clay whistles, brought to the lips, transform a single breath. A simple note, again and another, begin to form a melodic song, pulled from the earth. Soon a plaintive…
If I close my eyes, I see an overwhelmed little girl, hair disheveled, sitting on the floor, in the middle of a messy bedroom. From the great distance of time,…
Today is the third of November and the third anniversary of Silvia's death. This morning, I light a slender white candle for Silvia at my desk, watching its bright flame rising…
My neighbors and I took many trips with the little red wagon down Main Street to Silvia's garden, a bedraggled crew of dirt covered gardeners on a mission to save…
