Inspired by C.S. Lewis' The Four Loves: My moon-sick eyes I turn from Sun above; Too brilliant, let me see yet silhouettes And trace them on my heart lest I forget These shades that show the shape of Light, my love. Permit that I might feel those phantom limbs Of One I neither see nor now…
"He now is struck with wonder by what's wonderful in him. Unwittingly, he wants himself; he praises, but his praise is for himself; he is the seeker and the sought, the longed-for and the one who longs; he is the arsonist— and is the scorched." - The Metamorphoses of Ovid In his Metamorphosis, Ovid paints perhaps…
Dear Readers, Yesterday, I made the common mistake of hitting "publish" before I'd actually finalized a rather sensitive post (a vignette examining a unique and serious job). If you received this post in email format and have already read it, thank you for your readership; however, please note that this post is not yet ready…
A year ago today I picked up a copy of Rupi Kaur's Milk and Honey in a Waterstones in Cambridge. I read it cover-to-cover without sitting and — admittedly — without purchasing it. I was intrigued, but, when I closed it and placed it back on its display, I realized that the fascination I'd felt with…
I fear we are dying of consumption... It's 2019 and it seems that everyone seems has some sort of food sensitivity. (Someone recently suggested that I cut gluten, which nearly made me cry as I reached for another slice of bread.) Our nutritional awareness is becoming more and more acute and, on the whole, I'd…
A modulation is a "change from one key to another in a piece of music." Seems simple enough. Often they are, and, being a rather lazy songwriter, I'm a huge fan of a common-tone modulation, where a single note is sufficient to transpose one key into another, often in a single beat. Right now, though,…
As I grow older, it is often more difficult to fall asleep. I know I'm not alone in this. Age brings with it more anxieties and activities than the sheep we might otherwise be counting and, honestly, the only cure I've found (aside from melatonin) is to return to reading bedtime stories. As I recently…
I am a runner and, although I'm not going to win for speed any time soon, I am satisfied in my steadily-increasing pace. As odd as it sounds, I credit much of this consistency to my shoes. A devout patron of Brooks, I am more than a little happy with my pairs of their "Ghost"…
Skimming the stories I loved so, I saw the growth of a writer. Glimmers of the novel I am drafting now and the woman I am becoming shine out in those early pages of limping syntax and predictable plots. Every now and then, a good sentence or single word stands out and says, "There is hope for you yet, Scribbler."
The night breeze whispered through the trees, shuffling their crisp leaves and making them buzz like radio static. It was an unusually beautiful autumn day, but then again, it was January. Always several steps ahead in politics, technology, and accepted morality, Los Angeles remained ever a few months behind when it came to seasons. But…
