The Apostrophe Blog
It rains. It pours. The atmosphere is currently a torrent pummeling down. All the world here right now is wet, cold, muddied, a graying puddle-and-flow. The sky, a wash of white—no texture, no definition, one mass of socked-in cloud. That is the general feeling these last few days of autumn as we edge to the solstice, the shorter daylight day of the year, here in the Pacific Northwest. These are the days when I am beyond grateful for shelter, for the blessing that is a home with roof, doors, windows, central heat. And I know—it is far often too easy to hole up inside the comfort of that, to close yourself off from the too many who are exposed and struggling and at sea. Days rush by in a blur; life right now feels suspended between a challenging-but-somewhat-reliable what is and a terrifyingly vague and downright sinister what may soon be. So many in power, so many with the power to do (deliberate) harm—that is what the world seems on the edge of right now. I am struggling to find a way to take all of this in, to locate a way to be in this moment, to not cave in to the anxiety and fear and dread. And I am probably, right now, given my age and situation, and where we live, one of the (temporarily?) lucky ones. This is a bleak moment. It is a challenge to feel otherwise.
I took the photograph above on December 6, 2024 during a spontaneous birthday happy hour with friends at Radio Room in Portland, Oregon. I think the blur was the result of the low, gray afternoon light…
- Life Going By in a Blur… - December 17, 2024
- Silent Morning, Unbuttoned Thoughts Rattling Around - December 6, 2024
- Publication News: “These Miles to My River” - December 1, 2024