Release. . .

—From EF— The little hybrid maple tree in our front yard has shed most of its leaves, and after each new session of raking I swear I’ve heard it giggle as it drops another spray of red and yellow and brown to cover the moss again. This year I’ve started...

Thoughts on Death…

—From CB— It’s important. # It deserves being capitalized, since it always involves proper names. # Being 80 years old, it becomes real, even though I can’t conceive it. It’s hard to think about not being. I can only recall my mid-afternoon Ph.D. seminar on Hegel,...

Garlic and Bach. . .

—From EF— Last week I tucked the bedded garlic under a beautiful fluffy russet comforter of mulch, a mix of the lightweight little leaves from the Japanese maple tree by the house (first layer) and pine needles from the tree down by the street. Those are very long, so...

Reality. . .

—From CB— Lately, I’ve been reading the Bible again. This is due to my sudden interest in King David—one of those waking brain-spasms that engender unlikely projects. Something dangles a worm, and abruptly I’m dangling from the hook. So I’ve started another goddam...

The Dance of Dark and Light. . .

—From EF— A day ago I had a luscious sensual hour of hard work planting my next year’s crop of garlic. The cloves I was using as seed were round and smooth and firm, and it was so easy to find the resemblance to beautiful breasts and butts. I’d spent half...

Eighty. . .

—From CB— Last week I turned eighty. Though I received many congratulations, this was not entirely of my doing. In part, it was due to the cursed medical establishment, who over the years ran interference for me. In part, it was due to my wife, who’s cooked my suppers...

Laughter. . .

—From EF— When I was two years old, I was taught the capitals of all the states, and being only two, I must have sounded funny mispronouncing them. My mother liked to show me off as a party trick, and people would laugh and applaud. I don’t know why I thought I...

God. . .

—From CB— For some time, I’ve had the urge to write down what I believe, to see what it turns out to be. Not easy. First, because most of my writing is storytelling, not essay. Second, because posts here attract a swarm of hornets whose sniffers are out for fascists,...

A Poet. . .

—From EF— I have a friend in Philadelphia who is a poet. Best friend. Best poet. Her work is fierce, powerful, and cuts to the bone. Now she has a new book, laser-focused on war. Our endless war, pick your own name. These poems are not an anti-war demonstration,...

Into the Wind…

—From CB— I’ve made a resolution I might actually honor: to post on FB nothing relating to political or sociological debate. Those in agreement don’t need it; those who aren’t, don’t listen. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be entirely faithful to my resolution, and I...