I was on the way out the door when my dad called to tell me that my mom had died. It was a warm spring day, and dust motes danced in the sunbeam in front of me …
Tag: loss
Unseen
I’m with you, my love In the sway of that Oak She is rocking you Sway with her Dance with her Let me watch you Like the sun that raises his golden head Each morning Painting the …
Shoot, Drink, Older Woman, Preferably in That Order: in praise of Hemingway.
There is something beautifully masculine about Ernest Hemingway’s writing. It is, at times, ephemeral, deep, yet containing a polished surface that does not display those dark ripples until closer inspection. Every time I read Hemingway, I am …
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