I’m biking the river bottoms with my son when we encounter an elderly hiker on the trail. He wears a wide-brimmed hat and has a German Shepherd held firmly in place by the collar. Not wishing to spook the animal, I bring the knobby tires of my mountain bike to a halt. “Hold up, son,” … Continue reading Artemis of the River Bottoms
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Ghosts in the Machine
Have we all become ghosts in a machine beyond our understanding? I've lost track of my passwords. What am I without them? Our technologies provide a flicker of shadow on the cave wall, a bit of light to let us know we still exist. So alienated from nature and addicted to our reflections we have … Continue reading Ghosts in the Machine
Reclamation
A Happy Couple
Each day the trees along the river seem to burst with more color. The drabness of winter is turning to spring. I went fishing today at Hidden Falls Park and didn’t catch a darn thing. Except for this photograph—a mating pair of Canadian geese. I was glad I went. It kept me human. And that’s … Continue reading A Happy Couple
The Last Third
With November upon us and the skyline a lattice of sticks, I think of The First Third--the posthumously published memoir by Neal Cassady. Cassady was Jack Kerouac’s muse, the Dean Moriarty of his famous novel, On the Road. I read both those books when I was about twenty. Kerouac admired Cassady for his frenetic energy … Continue reading The Last Third
A Story With Wings
I just wanted to thank all my readers and extend an invitation to check out my story, "Wasted Meat," which appears in the latest (Nov/Dec 2019) issue of Gray's Sporting Journal which is available now at Barnes and Noble. I knew "Wasted Meat" was a special story when I wrote it, perhaps my best. Success, … Continue reading A Story With Wings
Crows
My brother gave me an album of photographs and important papers that my father left behind. I keep it out of sight in the basement. But sometimes, late at night, when the rest of my family is asleep, I drink too much wine and think about the past. Barrel-chested and powerful, my father sits on … Continue reading Crows
Roswell City Limits
My father died on February 25th, 2012. He was 67 years old. He had made an appointment to see a doctor that day, but the pain got to be too much and he ended up dialing 911. He had a perforated stomach that led to septicemia which is a bacterial infection of the blood. He … Continue reading Roswell City Limits
Remembering the Hobo Day Riots of 1990–The Skinny Kid Goes to College
I remember the day my father dropped me off at college. I was eighteen years old. I gazed into the mirror after he had gone and said aloud to my reflection, “You’re never going to make it here.” The room was spartan with concrete walls, a bunk, a dresser and a desk on each … Continue reading Remembering the Hobo Day Riots of 1990–The Skinny Kid Goes to College
My Father’s Shoes
In my earliest recollection of childhood, I feign sleep in the back seat of a car. Through a veil of eyelashes, I watch motes of dust circulate in a shaft of sunlight like something astral. I remain like that a long time--in wonder of the dust--when I hear my mother tell my father that … Continue reading My Father’s Shoes
Crow City 