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Irish Gumbo · 3d ago

Glass Heart Waltz

PROLOGUE: 8:57 pm. Saturday. A quiet St. Patrick's Day for this writer. Sidelined by a sore back and achy head, the revelry is in the mind. Also, fragments of the past drift to the top of th...
Irish Gumbo · 1W ago

Dawn Creeps In

Soft footpads glide over the forgiving bed of the forest floor. Musky scent of deer and other feed on the hoof floods the flared nostrils, quickens the pulse, and commands the attention. Gol...
Irish Gumbo · 2W ago

Saltwater Spring

Alive, by the seaHis appetite awokenGreen waves' aroma
Irish Gumbo · 3W ago

Old Man in the Rear View Mirror

Field notes, 25 Feb 18: a torn page found in a corner. The lantern had burned out. We think he was sleeping when it happened.It used to be we did not understand edges in this country, you he...
Irish Gumbo · 1M ago

Window By The Sea (Chasing Vapor)

Field notes: 3:53 PM in the pewter light of Saturday. Fat snowflakes wafting down. Writing about writing, in the drift, wondering where to go from here.Sunrise over the shimmering jade respl...
Irish Gumbo · 1M ago

Bonfire of the Memories

The water swirls down the drain in inky spirals. Soot drips  from my fingers in fat ebony drops. The amount of wood and paper they had slung into the flames exceeded my original estimate. Dr...
Irish Gumbo · 1M ago

Journal in the Wood

The continent is vast, stretching from far north to deep south. It is somewhat lozenge shaped with its extreme ends shrouded in ice and cold. Land rises up from the water to meet the sky in ...
Irish Gumbo · 1M ago

Flood on the River of Dreams

His eyes open slow as the rise of the sun. A patient inexorability shedding light on the world. It is cool here, and quiet save for the sounds of the forest. Pain resides here, too, but as a...
Irish Gumbo · 1M ago

On the Verge of Gone

The milk. It has been in there for two weeks past the expiration date. Unscrew the cap anyway. Wipe off the seal. Peering into the jug reveals no curds, at least that can be seen by the nake...
Irish Gumbo · 2M ago

Highwire Over the Black

8:13 PM. Notes from the cell. A mid-winter night's nightmare. I tell you now this is not a "feel good" essay.That which troubles my sleep, and my waking hours. I am tightrope walking over a ...