BEEN THINKIN’ ABOUT… STORYBOOK DIRT. The smell of the leaves is strong in the November dusk, strong and acidic and tannic and luminous, the smell of the forest’s death and rebirth, of the garden and autumn all at once. The sun slipped beyond the west seemingly only moments ago and now all is but dark.…
BEEN THINKIN’ ABOUT… ROSES IN A DARK ROOM. A dark bedroom, a single light. The lamp was a strange thing, heavily weighted, long, spindly neck, rough black charcoal-like texture of hood and base, the lamp of a mid-century engineer with a black briefcase and shoes buffed until persistently reflective. But engineering was a world away,…
BEEN THINKIN’ ABOUT… THE SENTINEL OAKS’ PROMISE. I ran down the path, bare feet flying on our forest floor. I liked to run the paths we had made, paths mostly free of gooseberry thorns. Still, I had to be careful. When you grow up going bare foot spring, summer and most of autumn, you learn…