I was half cocked that day in August when the light lost its ascendancy. Do you know the day I mean? It happens around the same time as cicadas begin buzzing and throbbing and crickets creak like a thousand wooden rocking chairs on shady wooden porches. I never anticipate what day it will happen. It just happens. Continue reading
Lounging in bed this morning, I avoided writing a poem that won’t quite pull itself together, about crows de-roosting at dawn. While not thinking about it, two things occurred to me. First, I really wanted a cup of coffee.
Curled under my duvet, fists balled under the pillow, head wrapped in a turban of duvetness with only my face exposed, my nose was cold. This morning it was -14 Celsius and swaddled in an amniotic sac, I dawdled getting out of bed. My husband had left earlier for a long-distance cross-country ski so there was no chance he’d intuit my longing. Continue reading
I remember playing field hockey on a long gone October morning, a breeze on my legs as I chased the ball down the field. Low slung sun rays divided the grass into light and dark, wet and dry, warm and cold. My baggy school shorts showed thighs blotchy red with exertion. For years after the eighth grade, I hated running. I blame the shorts. Continue reading
It’s the tightrope season. A shaky line between summer and winter that could drop either way – snow or soul shaking thunderstorms; socks in the morning or sandals; trudging steps to inevitable winter or a woozy last skinny dip in the lake at dusk. Continue reading