Category: seasons

To autumn.

“How fine the air. A temperate sharpness about it. Really, without joking – chaste weather – Dian skies.” – John Keats, Sept. 1819 In autumn the world is tipped between flower and seed, between glorious life and the turning of that life back into the soil, into sleep, into waiting. Klondike cosmos folds into itself […]

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Spring waters.

Blustery raw wind, gray sky, cold.  But I’m glad, because it’s raining.  Not snowing.  Raining. All the gutters and downspouts are trickling, cutting channels through the grungy continents of ice now going soft and grainy everywhere.  Dark and muscular, our river fills its bed from bank to bank, rumbling under the bridge and carrying melted […]

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Pigs among the windfalls.

September, with the smell of fall caught and blowing around in the trees as Keats inevitably rustles inside my head: season of mists and mellow fruitfulness….  One afternoon I take a break from my massive sabbatical writing project — which features among other things Keats (of course), John Cage, Marina Abramovic, yoga, gardening, pottery, snails, […]

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A sweet, savory summer salad.

So while maybe it’s not terribly original, I was proud of this when I threw it together, with an experimental tweak or two, last night: lettuce from the garden, cold deep-red plums from the fridge [pause for silent William Carlos Williams homage here], goat cheese, almond slivers, and one of the last handfuls of strawberries […]

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Mary, Martha, and cheapskate intellectualism: the New Year’s organizing dilemma.

Every year, fresh from days away at my family home where there are friendly differences about — shall we say — organizing styles, I return to my own little house and see the place with fresh eyes.  Somehow, as good as I usually am about filing and purging, the place just looks full.  The line […]

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