Late Winter These not-much days, late winter you hope, when the air breathes like a spring morning until a few steps later it’s freezing, north
This month, I’m writing words and posting images relating to the landscape of memory. I hope to write poems most days and also share photos,
My second “In A Vase on Monday” entry, an unexpected gift of daffodils from a friend visiting for elixirs and snacks on a chilly afternoon
There is a secret bond between slowness and memory, between speed and forgetting. Consider this utterly commonplace situation: a man is walking down the street.