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’re walking in San Francisco and it’s getting late. I’m here in The City and it has been such a long time. A lot of time has passed. A lot of heavy time. It weighs on me as I return to familiar places and I feel aged, but you have to pronounce it...
