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...
Photo: agsaz / Shutterstock.com After my visit to the Royal Alcazar, I stopped at a café and sat outside, relishing the almost-warmth in that last day of December, sipping the thick hot chocolate and dipping fat fingers of churros into it, telling myself it was my...
It’s ten minutes to 7 and mordant sunlight is leaking through the gaps in the broken curtains. I can feel the gold light on my face and understand the meaning of the term ‘sun-drenched.’ I keep my eyes closed, letting my eyelids burn under the weight of the fulgent...
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...
Photo: George Sheldon / Shutterstock.com The pungent odorof horseradish follows youpast butchers, bakers,and florists, past glazed donuts, hard pretzels, and youngMennonites tying cherrystems in knots with tongues. Andy Brown is a freelance writer and editor of Scrawl...
