The Apostrophe Blog
Day after Thanksgiving. Last two, three days of November. A very long, distressing month in which time has sorta kinda stood still and also been molasses and also been a Mata Hari of disguise and calumny and intrigue. And yet we all (still) attempt to soldier on. I, for one, decided to get a holiday tree early and spend my Black Friday adorning it with birds, bees, butterflies, dragonflies, cranberry, popcorn, you name it and call it a pollinator habitat because that is the intent. There are lights. There are icicles made of spun glass. There is lichen hidden in cracks and crevices of this high-elevation noble fir brought from near Crater Lake to Thicket, the sweet urban nursery mere blocks from our house where we scored this adorable conifer (for a pretty penny) yesterday. There is scent that has entered indoors and reminds me of the necessity of trees, of forest. My son, whose middle name IS Forest, sits downstairs. We are in a moment of sobriety. Of reflection, regrouping, reconnoitering, reconsidering, recompense. I have no illusions; I believe that this country is on a slow, slow road to eventual and tragic ruin for the majority of its inhabitants. In the meantime? I am celebrating the accidental journey of the Cascades lichen that made it here to my urban holiday tree…
Interests: Reading, writing, not arithmetic. The art and craft of poetry. Photography. Vegetable and flower gardening especially heirloom bulbs and dahlias. Movies in real theatres. Theatre on real stages. Art in real galleries. Crossword puzzles and, of course, Wordle. Singer-songwriters like Aimee Mann and Patti Griffin. All kinds of music especially 1930s jazz. Venice, Italy! The Dude abides.
- Publication News: “These Miles to My River” - December 1, 2024
- Piecework - November 30, 2024
- Publication News: Passager - November 27, 2024
