At the corner of Hamilton and Third, we find it. The soul of the snow storm. Around us the houses are quiet and dark. Most people have gone to bed by now, but out here the world is filled with snow light and the hiss of the flakes as they sift down through the trees. … Continue reading Nature’s Cold Quilt
Non-Fiction
My Own Emptiness
A cold November day floats flakes of flurries on its cutting breeze. A wide table in a sun-bright room is stacked with papers at its head. We file in, five of us: the closing agent, the officer from the bank, my real estate agent, and the buyer’s agent. My attorney flicks through the pages waiting … Continue reading My Own Emptiness
The Gaffer
The gaffer blows his glass with ease and elegance. He stands before the red-hot furnace and dips his blowpipe into the molten sand. He swings the pipe up and out. He is nimble on his feet, balanced in his shoulders. He walks toward the block, swinging the pipe end over end. His intent face is … Continue reading The Gaffer
Apocalypse Over
They hobble toward me through the early morning fog. Dawn has not yet broken, and the sky above the fog is slate gray and steely. Porch lights and street lights are pinpricks of blue, star-shaped sparkles high above the street. But the figures coming toward me are huddled and shapeless. Their toes seem to find … Continue reading Apocalypse Over
The Last Warm Night
We walk up through the neighborhood houses on the last warm October night. The breeze tugs at the fallen leaves lying in the gutters, and they skitter along behind us. They sound like the pitter-patter of a thousand invisible feet stalking us from the shadows. I swing my boyfriend's hand back and forth. We peer … Continue reading The Last Warm Night
Saddlebags and Zip Ties
I reach down to open the saddlebag on my boyfriend's Harley, and realize, once the top springs free, that the back half of the bag is no longer attached to the bike. "Oh. Uh-oh," I say, wiggling the hard bag up and down. "The back bolt is gone on this saddlebag." "Seriously?!" My boyfriend pops … Continue reading Saddlebags and Zip Ties
Runner’s High
Up before the sun. Outside my windows, streetlights shower diffused light down through fog and mist that stalk white beneath the trees. The street is an alternating pattern of shadow and light. I stand inside my neon-lit bathroom, half-awake now as I braid my hair, pop contacts into my eyes, and yawn. Stumbling through my … Continue reading Runner’s High
A Throwback Sort of Town
The town is a throwback sort of town--the kind that experienced renaissance for about twenty years after World War II and then slowly began sporting vacant and fading storefronts like gaps in an aging man’s teeth. Its claim to fame is suffrage and some fictional movie that the current generation finds a symptom more than … Continue reading A Throwback Sort of Town
There is Hope in This
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
Happily Here and Now
If I could write you a love story, I would write of far away woods tucked into mountain folds and of twisting roads under autumn leaves. Brooks that babble down rocky ravines. And somewhere above the valley floor, a little cabin that is ours. I would wash away the worries and the grime, the cares … Continue reading Happily Here and Now
Seeking Prose 