Wherein a woman walks and muses. The shape of the woods sounds like birds. Writers abound. The stories cross oceans and wave. All this to try to stem the tide in her head of climate catastrophe and the rise of authoritarian regimes here there & everywhere. Keeping a world on self-destruct at bay.
27 July 2019 Today feels very bleak. (A hasty draft journal in time.) Bleakness breeds hasty remedies. Cultish solutions seem tantalizing to thoughtful people. The news of the day is all about the bitter tyrants winning. All over the world. I am caught up in meditating on a death. In the public sphere, the global… Continue reading Give Me Too Much: An Ode to Excess
April 28, 2019 I haven’t been posting on the recent shooting and car ramming in the U.S. One anti-Semitic and one Islamophobic. The dead and injured and their communities suffer so. The target changes but the gender of the offender remains the same. Men, often young. The latest death of a young person hit by… Continue reading Rambling with Ghosts
22 September 2018 When you’re drunk it’s so much fun—Your stories don’t make sense. An early fall has strung The elms with yellow flags.Anna Akhmatova "i feel like a stranger" says the woman across the tablewhose glass of wine is alwaysthe first of the evening. The second evaporatesin the mind before the swallowof her "disappearing… Continue reading “i feel like a stranger” (my mother’s brain)