Shadow Shot Sunday
Thanksgiving Day (in the USA; Portland, Oregon to be exact) was sodden. Yesterday we had four times the average rain (0.86 in vs. 0.20 in) and I’d thought it was to continue all week and weekend. But, Friday was lovely, so here is a fresh shadow. (I’m obsessing on bare trees and crows at the moment. Be warned. It’s not the sharpest focus, sorry, but the textu

The Occasioned Meal
The Occasioned Meal It wasn’t that I was in from way out of town, (– A thousand miles? It’s nice you could come visit.) Or that we sat around a too crowded kitchen table, generations: Grandmother, second cousin, thirds, tearing up to recall men gone long, all. A first. Or that it would be the last I witnessed Mary Nell or Willie Faye in dressy street clothes instead of the zippered housecoats preferred by those who can’t button or who reside in the same pale mode daily no matter who might come to call, anymore, when they do. It wasn’t the cornbread dressing renowned, if a tad

wordless Wednesday
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signs
Signs left [to] [for no apparent] reason Atop a guardrail post: a navy blue mitten, four sizes too small. A used condom, tied in a knot; one flower lost from a bouquet. Surveyor’s tape, waves a schizophrenic warning from a sapling’s dead branch. Dog scat, petrified; a cairn. Dog scat, fuzzed; button mushrooms. Brindled whirls: a shaved grey crown low talking to the sliding box. The man in a light purple knit cap genuflects before entering the bus. A star winks like a satellite. The moon is open to communication. Recognizable voices exuberant in an unknown tongue. A tree cast over the trail, wind k

Shadow Shot Sunday
Few things are recognizable without its accompanying shadow. What would the absence of mass be, without shadow to define it? * * * Hey Harriet. A weekly post where you can see galleries of