Monthly Archives: June 2016


I sat on a rock gazing upstream for no particular reason – I suppose – but for the slope of the rock provided a comfortable seat – and the sycamore provided shade, anyways, I sat on the rock upstream-gazing and thought about walking the creek bed

so many more days a creekbed than a creek

and I remembered the summer, ten years ago – Claire and I walked the creek bed –  an agreable workout for our legs – stepped up and across boulders through the creek bed – sought balance as legs moved from one boulder to the next – navigating our steps provided time for talk – talk somehow easier when your body busy with movement – your mind volleys between the subject of the next step and words about ‘how you’re doing’

I was headed for divorce – my choice, though not easypleasantnice – Claire, I suppose, reached out to me – I considered myself her social work project – she being that kind of person

today I sit on my back porch, feet rest on the low wall around our patio and I write – I’m on the other side of divorce – Claire survived a stroke no longer able to ford steps through the creek bed – I visited her those first few weeks in rehab – in my quiet way, watched her guide my response

“The present . . . explodes over my head, flinging the air with particles  . . . it is the live water and light that bears from undisclosed sources the freshest news, renewed and renewing, world without end.”*

  • Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek



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from a branch close to the trunk I see the straight boards of the fence through the dense network of branches, on the other side the red bricks of our house

within the branches I inhale the earthy smell of the fuzzy underside of the hard polished leaf

it is summer in our backyard

Bill sat on a smaller branch a little higher than where I sat

I’m sure we shared a few words with each other – but what do kids talk about anyway? we’re together – shielded by the branches

Bill’s arm cradles the trunk, his cheek rests above it, hard to say if he embraces the tree or it embraces him

a fabric of polished green Magnolia leaves allow glints of light enter our space

who knows what moves children to shift from the private space inside a tree to the cool brick floor in a family room before a television blaring “B’wana John” and a half hour with Tarzan

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