See, this tree. This white-barked, wind-bent, skinny bitch reaching toward the sea I’ve seen her bent nearly to the ground by harsh wind from the mainland, and from the sea I’ve seen her bent nearly to the ground by men and their ladders trying to do their job but not considering the possible consequences. Or perhaps they did By men…
The photograph headlining this post probably encapsulates perfectly what it must have been like to mother me all these years, at least 75% of the time. Maybe 95%. Mom would probably say, “No, only maybe 25%” while really wanting to say “50%” but deeply wishing to say “75%.” And it would depend on how many mimosas…
I remember, long ago, when the Columbia College Fiction Writing Department was still on 8th floor of the Wabash building. The first day of a semester of Advanced Fiction back then involved all of us Advanced students standing around in the hallway for about 45 minutes, nervous, some of us smoking (because we could do that…
