What the trees are teaching me
The steps where I stretch my calves each morning are covered, now, with crimson and brown and gold. Fragments of life fallen, flung, surrendered for a season in the certainty…
The hands that keep holding
There’s a huge, turreted home that I pass on my morning runs. It sits well back from the road, peeking out from behind giant rhododendrons heavy with mauve blossom and…
The God of surprises
Since mid-November when my landlady told me she'd sold the condo in which I was living, I’ve been looking without success for a new place to live. A week ago…