White rooftops in the morning. Scatter of white across the grass like salt tossed by a careless hand. Why does the sight of something so cold make us feel warm inside? ©️2021 Katie Baker I hope all who celebrated it had a Happy Thanksgiving. It has been a hectic few days for me, and I'm … Continue reading Like Salt
Working from home you must adjust your expectations of the mornings. No more stumbling across darkened parking lots fumbling for your key fob. No more friendly banter in office hallways. No more gossip before you settle in. The highlight of the morning now is a glass-walled Bodum french press. The squeak of my cupboard door, … Continue reading Things Change
There's a special moment-- like a breath or a pause-- between books. Maybe it's not even a breath or a pause, but rather a dangling over empty space. A loose end. Whenever this moment comes, I feel like someone who's walked into a room but can't remember why they're there. What was I doing? What … Continue reading The Pause Between Books
Maybe it’s strange, but I really don’t mind the darker mornings in the fall. There’s something cozy about the dark pressed up against my window panes, and the way it makes the light inside my house seem more golden. I enjoy the extended mornings because in the summer, I’m usually awake as soon as the … Continue reading Maybe It’s Strange
When the rain finally breaks and the autumn sun returns, my heart feels a little lighter. It's comforting to watch the leaves sparkle in the wind and to remember there is more to life than just gray and dreary and dreadful things. Sometimes we need the spears of sunshine to pierce through the clouds that … Continue reading The Clouds that Muck Up Our Hearts
I wish sometimes I could just live in a book and never come up for air. I think of all the stolen moments of my childhood, holed up in my bedroom diving into worlds of espionage, 18th century Britain-- even worlds made up from myth, legend, and hearty imagination. I remember sunny afternoons on a … Continue reading Never Come Up For Air
Are we just the sum of everything we’ve ever said? Does this include the angry things? The drunken confessions. Distracted outbursts. And misery fueled rants, colored by depression, pain, or anxiety. If everything we’ve ever said is sitting in the docket, which of us would receive acquittal from our judges? If the real you or … Continue reading New Religion
The words feel slippery today, as if they're a pat of butter sliding across a sizzling skillet. Take a fork and stab them, but they'll slide on past. The words seem to dissolve, leaving nothing more than an iridescent residue on my page--nothing I can build with. Nothing than even resembles a good idea. I … Continue reading Writing is Hard Work
The October colors have come to full display. Russet, ochre, lime, and amber. Misty morning fog hangs above the hills and sprinkles the windshield opaque, like a stained glass window, painted by nature, colored by time. Speeding through the fog and rain. Empty road. Full horizon, hilltops multipling to the edge of sight. A half … Continue reading October Memory
Seneca Lake. Motorcycle ride. Close my eyes and let the roar of the wind buffet away the fears, the tears, and the fright of the future. I uncurl my fingers and open them, palm wide, into the flow of the air as it rushes past. I let it untangle all of the strands I’ve been … Continue reading There is Hope in This
Seeking Prose 