Lay of the Land

Writing the Pandemic Slant
I had lost the writer part of me who could pull meaning, maybe even art, up out of events and float it over the words. I stopped trying. Continue reading
America's Finest Environmental Magazine
I had lost the writer part of me who could pull meaning, maybe even art, up out of events and float it over the words. I stopped trying. Continue reading
Underlying these exploratory aims were grander dreams of conquest, I found—no longer just fanciful speculation. Continue reading
I WHEN WE ARE SMALL and close to the earth, there is more landscape than time. It’s only later that we forget. Only later that we begin to play pretend. I was Continue reading
I love to look at dill. I love to handle it, chop it. It’s an elegant shape. Its featheriness is touchable; I brush it on my cheeks when no one is looking. Continue reading
IN LATE JUNE, the thrum of annual cicadas, or chicharras, as we call them here in San Antonio, becomes the dominant sound of summer. The air percolates with percussion as males buckle Continue reading