Signatures

I trudge, wading and sinking, in the woods. The snow lies deep, up several inches over my knees, nearly to my waist where the trees are thin and the branches less likely to block the falling blizzard. The dogs burrow ahead of me, almost swimming, unable to move save by great bounding leaps forward, one…

Gifts

The world is cold, and startlingly deep blue, when I go out. I have woken in the dark before the dark before dawn, and the stars are blazing, blazing. The house is still–not even the dog wakes, when I creep downstairs in my socks, shawl over my arm, and search for shoes in the dark….

Making Modifications

The first snowfall is a kind of magic. In the dark, everything seems to press closer. On the road in front of me, the wind picks up last week’s fallen leaves, stirring them with the white snow and the shadows, mixing autumn into winter into the long, slow sleep of the night. We are sliding…

Thresholds

9/1 for M. These last days run, a watercolor still wet from the brush, sliding together in great, shining strokes. Laden, sunlight like tears too bright not to weep. I am looping back along a span of double-promised sunsets, cross leggéd in the grass, knees slung together unconscious and at ease. I am returning to…

Mirage

The field glows golden in the sunset, rolling back and back until it finally gives way to the mountains, blue fading into dim silver in the distance. The sun, perched on the western horizon, turns the edges of everything gilt, painting the trees, our set, the hair of the children running in the grass. Running–one…

When We Matter

Two days. This thought is, I suspect, in all of our minds as rehearsal finishes and we begin to collect ourselves for the drive home. Two days. The next time we gather, it will be the morning before our opening performance. It might be surreal, only I am too tired to notice. It is my…

Reverse Osmosis

The movement of fresh water through a semipermeable membrane when pressure is applied to a solution (such as seawater) on one side of it. –Merriam-Webster 6/30/2018 Take your place along this road, asphalt cracked and shone through green, blades sprung up in the in-between like a question-marked shaking, sharp dew-edged glint. Take your place along…

Half an Acre

I find myself at seven o’clock on a Friday evening, sitting in the breezy haven of my bright living room, alone with myself (and, of course, the kittens). It doesn’t dawn on me that it is Friday, and thus an evening of freedom, until I have done a bit of cleaning, have eaten my dinner,…

May

  The rain falls, falls. The valley is filled with mist, the ridge above my home is blanketed, the woods drip and steam. At night, I lie awake and listen to the stream, swelling past its banks at the bottom of the pasture. The river races itself, hurrying to get, well, anywhere. Fields, finally beginning…

Spring: Sugaring Season

They meet in the middle of the road–the Sugarmaker’s Son and my father. They meet in the middle of the road and stand, feet slowly sinking in the mud. I guess this is it. Yea, I guess it is. His pipeline is strung out, clotheslining the woods across the road into a thousand crooked squares, sectioned…

Year Of

2017. January: Home. Home. Home. Home. Home. Utter relief, even through the aftermath of the upheaving it took to get here. Friendship. Home. February: Dance again. Like deep, soaking rain after months of drought. Snow like I had forgotten. Cold the same. Rest. March: Endings, and, more frightening, beginnings. The failing of friendship, and the…

Winter: Nutcracker

It is a strange feeling, riding the elevator up to the dressing rooms at the Opera House. The lobby is warm, dimly lit by the soft, silvery glow of the evening sky outside the windows, snow falling to mute the sound of the city and turn everything soft. I stop there for a few moments,…