El Masnou
New is new, like a child whose eyes open on an unknown flower, an adult whose bend in the road reveals a vista
Category Archives: Prose
Catch
Even from this distance you could see the fin, the rainbow tail flipping angrily.
The fact of a fox
A flicker in shadow, the faintest touch of color, the form and the finesse.
Crows
Between the hills and the channel, the crows flew into the cornfields as they had two hundred years before.
We Don’t Run
There was fear in his voice, acidic, and with it immediate anger.
fireside stories
There is much to be said of city life — but the less said, the better.
They walk I follow
Some art is as trivial and ephemeral as our youth: its willful innocence soon outgrown, and without resentment, but with a kind and condescending turn of heart, to be dismissed as a passing, as a light distraction.
my reflection in the photograph
Several years ago I was “improving” my photo collection, which had become a wobbling tower of kodachrome, balanced precariously
Windows – 4
I At the sliding glass door she stood, looking at the night. Through her own reflection she could see, in order of diminishing certainty, the branches of a pine, the outline of flowers along the walk (in shades of gray), lawn that faded into the darkness of what she knew to be a road. When …
Windows – 3
Lonny was the product of big energy and tiny town, where the limitations imposed by three square blocks of homes — an Alcatraz adrift on an ocean of unswimmable wheat — fueled the kind of incendiary pressure that could only come out wrong. Even back then, when I was eight and Lonny was nine, his …
His truth; her truth
— The wind swept north and as the weather lifted, my spirit lifted, as though cloud held the weight of me, and sun held the lightness. Is it that easy? A wind? I wanted to believe it was heartache, it was joy brewing in my heart; but maybe heartache and joy are related to weather …
curve
“The curve of the river is where the breeze comes freshest. You can hear the leaves find voice before each gust arrives, like an invisible wave reaching upstream, downstream. On this bank is the small shore, because the arm of water hooks around us here, an embrace. The far bank is the long shore: from here …