When the Waxwings Come
They arrived without announcement. I was sitting on the front porch, coffee cooling in my hands, when the air itself seemed to quicken. At first there was no sound—only a subtle shift in the light, as if an unseen curtain had opened and closed. Then the tree was full of birds. The mountain ash, heavy…
A Prayer Without Words
The morning did not announce itself gently. It came beneath a steel sky, vast and low, its grayness gathered as though the whole horizon had been hammered into one unbroken sheet. Storm clouds moved with the solemn purpose of something ancient. They darkened the fields, pressed close to the road, and made the familiar landscape…
When the Wind Changes
The wind shifted sometime in the night. For weeks, the days have been held beneath a heavy hand of heat and humidity. Mornings arrived already warm, and even the shade seemed to have lost its usefulness by afternoon. The air pressed close. Work moved more slowly. Thoughts moved more slowly, too. We learned again the…
In My Words 