Photo by Thomas R Machnitzki, CC BY 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons Other than the days where it was rained so hard that we were sure it would never stop, rain that sounded like someone was dancing on the roof of the house, all the days were the same. It was always...
Photo: Emelissamn / Shutterstock.com Honored to your coast in the month of floods. Wondering if your November is giving or grieving. Yellow cedar and Douglas fir too young and contradictory to be hosting lichen elders and voluptuous mosses. I listen for hope among the...
Photo: Kamira / Shutterstock.com The first time I was in New York, I was fifteen, my brother was eighteen, and we had two suitcases plus four unexpected hours before a flight. We left our bags in this girl Megan’s hotel room—a camp friend of his, long story—and...
Roger is skeptical, because the last time he and Sollie drove down to the Cape from Joburg, Sollie flipped his pickup, a brand-new Datsun, almost off a mile-high cliff. After that, they had got smashed out of their minds at some shebeen and had to hitch their way...
A place we fell in love with and made our home, a place where crabs crawled up to the porch as we sat in bamboo chairs, sipping our morning chai, inhaling the fragrance of frangipani, listening to the bulbul song we had come to expect, the first rays shining into our...
Photo: Vicky Jirayu / Shutterstock.com ‘Kate,’ you say, ‘summer is nearly over. There’s something you need to know.’ It’s August and we’re wearing summer dresses in the beer garden. Purple vines climb trellises and the evening air carries the murmurs of people who are...
