Monday, April 22, 2019 – Prairie

We’re almost a third of the way through this year. I’ve slogged my way through most of it, lifting one heavy, mud-caked foot after the other, in a fugue-like state. I can’t say why. This is life. It’s not always mountain top and it’s not always valley, sometimes it’s mile after mile of flat nothing-to-see

Saturday, April 6, 2019 – A Saturday

If you are creating something real, structure will reveal itself to you eventually. Look—there’s the vista. You lay the bricks. Moments connect. History and heritage ripple through the present. A voice emerges like a strain of music. And then—through the fog—a shape. It may not be what you expected. It may not even be what

Thursday, January 17, 2019 – Tapestry

It’s cliche, but at some point it becomes reality, and doctors start looking like they’re teenagers. We’re in a specialist’s office and he has just discussed a course of treatment. He picks up a little voice recorder and dictates notes that will be transcribed into my husband’s chart later (I know this because he indicates,