Photo by Brian Benson About a decade ago, when I was as directionless and angsty and heartbroken as I’ve ever been, I went on a boat ride with two of my best friends, Galen and Reid. I call it a “boat ride” because if I say it was a trip down the Mississippi, you’ll...
Photo: AlexiusHoratius, CC BY-SA 4.0 , via Wikimedia Commons Dawn in Poughkeepsie should not be underestimated. When you come from a place that is no place in particular, you don’t own the pen that writes towns off. I was not granted Brooklyn’s dry wit or Santa Fe’s...
I imagined the festival – scenic whirl on the great wheel,holding hands and swiveling to watch the white corona reflect in Baltic waters beneath the Hörnbrücke. I believedoutside our window keelboats would compass us to city center, where we would dance through...
A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte / Painting by Georges Seurat Your eyes are languid. Look at the trees and see the hazy dappling of the leaves. Look at the river and see the unmixed points of periwinkle, lapis lazuli, Aegean blue. Who are these...
Photo: Sailko, CC BY 4.0 , via Wikimedia Commons In the tropical butterfly house in the gardens of Villa Garzoni there is a piranha. I stand staring for a few moments at the fish with the deadpan face, shimmering reddish yellow scales and huge eyes. I don’t think I’ve...
Speaking of not shazaming, of trying to keep the moment pure, a truly mystical thing happened to us this morning. It started last night after the nightmare situation of walking our bikes in the pitch-black darkness, home from the Mosquito bar, there on the side of...
