Crippled “The last time I saw you, you were a cripple.” This from the mouth of an old friend, wife of a writing pal. She was right about not seeing each other for some time—going on four years—but it was the “cripple” part that turned Keith’s head, who looked over from his conversation behind the conference table with trademark raised read more >>

Driving River Road I want Hopper here with me riding shotgun. He’d know, like Walker Evans, to look for the past inside the present: to be keyed into the dilapidation and see it, like I do, as a form of beauty. And I am not talking some knee-jerk nostalgic impulse—though I have enough of those—but truly beautiful by being so read more >>

Wind in the Trees The wind pushes the tree tops around like upside down mops. No crows in sight, for now. As I write this, as if psychic, my puppy brings me her stuffed toy—a crow that, when pressed at its center, emits a realistic Caw, then another Caw, then, a beat later, a sharp Kee-Waak, the crow’s warning call. read more >>

River Road It’s an eleven-mile drive along River Road from our house to Avery’s school. The trip takes about thirty minutes, depending on traffic. We often drive the freeway, which shaves a good ten minutes off our time but it’s not as interesting a drive, nor as relaxed. On River Road there’s always a show: we pass a nature center read more >>

Something Else 1) “When I am on the horse, I can pretend I am not here,” the young woman says. One of the Palestinian elite, she says this inside the confines of an equestrian club. Who doesn’t know this trick of the mind, this gift of privilege, this curse? “When I come down, I am back in reality.” 2) At read more >>