In the days after Valentine’s
I feel something soft about the morning. I can see it in the pastel sky, hear it in the slow wash of tires on the…
Cat, processing, news.
This sixteen-year-old cat I foster spends her first week here under a blanket. She drinks water and sleeps. Processing, it feels like. The loss of…
A Path in the Woods
I look through my third floor windows at the same houses that were here 100 years ago, hear the train squeal over tracks laid well…