My Moody Friend

My Moody Friend

Mornings this time of year in the West often mean itchy eyes, a stench like charcoal, and a Beijing sky. Fire season. Sometimes fires are natural and bring renewal. Other times, not. But I know a place, like the phoenix. Let…

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Sunset

Sunset

Blithe and I are following a plan that allows her to stay in her own home, by herself, though she’s a nearly immobile, three-hundred-pound, eighty-five-year-old. Her electric wheelchair backs in beside her recliner and she can just make the two…

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Santa Ana

These winds finally feel familiar— Winds that come from the desert today, Emily. Rushing trees, clean-swept sky over bright mountains That, on this scrubbed morning, look so close you could touch them. Santa Anas once so drily foreign— where the…

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