Photo by Karin Hedetniemi The front door to my heart is a windswept coastline park, wild around the edges. A rocky shore strewn with slippery kelp, boulders, piles of driftwood. Framed by backward leaning trees. Gusts so fierce at times, you can barely stand upright....
“Joe’s Stone Crabs Sign” by Phillip Pessar is licensed under CC BY 2.0 I was sunning on South Beach when a thunderstorm materialized. Lightning struck the top of a lifeguard stand and rain started to pelt me. I sought cover in a grove of trees, but...
When the days are merely cold, but nights freeze the maple trees, I bore up far as xylem to set the spiles, hang the buckets, wait for warmth to move the trees to donate ichor. Sweet sap flows. Born and raised in New York, James Penha (he/him🌈) has...
Photo: Sheila Fitzgerald / Shutterstock.com There is water here, somewhere, but not at the end of this street, or the next one, each finding only a barrier of evergreens. And so I walk ever further into this maze of houses, each reclaimed from history, yards...
1. In the boat’s wake:a range of mountains,arching spine of peaks and valleys molded into the pliant sea. The path forward: littered with driftwood. 2. The earth’s anxiety in the liminal spaces: maelstrom of birds, the wind’s long howl, arrhythmic ocean swelling and...
We are in Needle Park and I am cold. I’m always cold, even in October. Maybe this has to do with the way the sun rises over my house, sort of in a sloppy diagonal. The cat and I sit in the backyard to thaw out in the early afternoon. Blonde cockroaches live in...
