Posts tagged “Life

there and back again

Posted on April 4, 2020

It is, indeed, a dangerous business, going out your door. And it’s true, if you step onto the road without keeping your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to. Yet, the not-knowing-of-the-sweeping is a fate far preferable to the knowing-of-staying-still. Because rivers that move become oceans. And those that don’t? Slowly fade away. There will always be “the old tug at your ankles.” The constant buzzing in your ears. The many voices who wish to tell you where and how and for what you should live your life. But there is only one person who has to live it. Only one spirit which has to carry the weight of whether the version of yourself you are choosing to accept is…

80th and 1st

Posted on January 4, 2019

John Steinbeck said, “Once you have lived in New York and it has become your home, no place else is good enough.” Oh, how right he was. I was lucky enough to call New York City home for the past few years, yet it feels as if those years lasted a lifetime. I truly believe there are certain spans we cross during our lives which, through experience, if not through time, cause us to age more than others. For me, this was one of those times. When I first came into the city, it was with the fresh, bright-eyed, shy wonder of one’s early twenties. When I left, it was with a steadier gaze and firmer feet, the weight of understanding that sombers the…

guardians of the green

Posted on July 12, 2013

I lay beneath the cover of trees, the day warm against my skin…watching glimpses of sunlight make their way across the leaves, flecks striking branches as they dance together, swaying in the breeze. My hand finds a root splayed tenderly beneath my arm, and I’m struck suddenly with the strangeness of it all. That these holders of secrets, silent, ancient, should stand gazing upon the years—upon us—soldiers, perpetually on their watch. Towering figures forced to contemplate the whims of men, to watch as children feign themselves warriors and chase shadows in the dark. How they must laugh at the king’s strut which fumbles when meeting a risen root, a tower so easily toppled… Gladiators, who find themselves prisoners of men who see bark only…

snowverland

Posted on February 9, 2013

I don’t know what it is about snowfall that never fails to catch your heart. That fixes your gaze to the sky like some remnant of older, more primitive magic. It creeps in silently, thickens the air with a cold so bitter that not a single breath is taken without being reminded of winter’s arrival. Inhale, exhale—white fog delivers to the wind what your mouth cannot speak, caresses the ears and whispers secrets of a pinkening twilit sky. You stand at the window and watch the neighbors rush inside with brown grocery bags, locking the doors behind them as if the simple action might keep out the cold. You rest your head against the glass and watch the fog from your breath gather as…