House Made of Windows
I live among trees in a house made of windows. Outside one is a stand of maples, barren except for the frayed kerchief of a single leaf that hangs on like one of those cartoon dogs that bites a human leg and gets flung about by its jaw, flapping about the hapless leg, or a cartoon vagabond who runs for a train an

Ladybug Riff
Here in Oswego, it’s unseasonably warm. High 50’s, slightly chilly despite the white wafer of the sun, which is making its descent behind the bare trees across the road. I like being chilled, I like unseasonably warm weather in November.

No Mask
Awake on Halloween morning at 4 a.m. Head downstairs in the dark to feed the cat, barefoot, half-clad, then pause on the landing on the way back to bed. The moon is setting in a hazy sky behind the western trees. Normal

The Lip of the V
Yesterday at dusk a deer walked through the yard. For two seconds, we made eye contact. The deer posed, body facing away, head turned toward me. “Be careful, baby,” I said, quietly. She had just crossed the road, and I was referring to cars, and hunters. This morn

The Saturation of Rain
We are on the cusp of October, my favorite month. But September wants its full due, and rain is the name of the game this week as we trickle out its last few days. “Trickle” is nearly literal, although a bit of an understatement -- we’ve been sequestered under g