prose

Things I won’t miss about Spain: Those days in Don Quijote class when the professor asks me a question and I have no idea how to answer. The smell of Spanish ham. Yup, that’s about it.

I’m passing through a placewhere poppies grow like weedsand better-tasting mountains growfrom mustard-sized black seeds.It’s not that I’m on opium–it’s really like a dream.This place is much more beautifulthan words can make it seem.

This was the weekend of April 10-13. Imagine your county fair, except the fairgrounds are surrounded by residential highrises, the livestock exhibits are replaced with tents full of dancing people, the jeans are replaced with flamenco dresses, and the Bud … Continued

Goodbye to the garden, the orchard, the grapetree, the trickling septic tank overflow, the trees we planted, the nests we watched, the chicken coop, the shed roof, the oil pit, the pile of rocks, the mulberry trees, the spots on … Continued

She lives alone.She’s got her t.v. and her telephone.Young ones come here but they always go home.This place is just a place to stay.I saw a manholding her look-a-like by the hand.Fifteen years past, perhaps I’d understandthis place is just … Continued

Here’s some footage from the trip that Bryna, Alaina, and I took to Rome. Yup, we got blessed by the Pope.

This was Palm Sunday weekend. See my Tabblo>

We were walking home in the rain together, talking. I noticed that if I angled my umbrella just right (concave towards the building and a little in front of me) it would echo my words back to me. Sweet. The … Continued

See my Tabblo>