When we’re faced with an ending, I think most of us instinctively recoil. At least initially, there’s some sort of pause before the plunge. We inhale deeply. Then we dive.
Once, a number of years ago, a young woman I knew vaguely through a mutual friend told me that, for her, art always soured after explanation.
He read the way I’d heard him read aloud from the Letters of Paul, books of the Old Testament. He’d been a lector at church for years; had also spoken in courtrooms, before judges and opposing council, on behalf of clients (I was one, once upon a time); over the public address at Ryan Field, Wapakoneta’s high…
I must’ve been difficult to handle alone. My kind of trouble makes bones of bodies, sand of bones.
I called the player over after practice had ended. “Do we have a problem?” I asked him. “Do you want brutal honesty?” I said yes, I did. He looked at the empty field, the sky, the fenced horse pasture beyond. Then he started talking.
I went there wanting to bend steel.
Here’s a story I started writing about a month ago about my wife and tee-shirts. We’re out back on the patio, doing coffee. There’s a breeze cutting the heat of the sun, which keeps slipping out from behind some shuffling cumulus cloud cover. “I think crushed sounds better than broke,” she says.
My wife and I walked our dog a little while ago. She has since gotten back to coloring, a practice she’s taken up with some consistency and considerable joy since her mother and I both gave her coloring books for her birthday.
I was standing on a high school soccer field the other night. A storm front had just rolled past; the air had cooled in its wake. But we never saw a drop of rain. The lights over the field began to glow just as the sky opened to a sunset of oranges, pale blues, and…
My character Tim is lonely like I imagine my old friend was lonely all those months he spent working for a lumber company, getting on planes and flying across the country.
Spanish moss isn’t really moss. It’s an airborne fungus which seems to cling almost exclusively to the massive, gnarled limbs of live oak trees, like those I tried capturing in the snapshot which serves as this post’s featured image.
Bro, About the beer can I tossed you: man, I should have made a better throw of it. The minute I saw it go under I felt something in me sink.