a small paper for a small planet
“The old word is the best,” affirmed Pendragon, in a voice that could have been used to caution visitors about certain secluded coves during the new moon.
A heightened sense of awareness came over me as the talk swirled round the three of us gathered by the Food Mart (which, despite the sign out front, our family insists on calling the “Blue Store”). I felt at one with Nehalem, “place of the people.” [Read More]
There is darkness on your lantern and pumpkins in your wind, and Oh, they clutter up your mind with their senseless bumping while your heart is like a sea gull frozen into a long distance telephone call. I’d like to take the darkness off your lantern and change the pumpkins into sky fields of ordered […]
I, like you, look forward to things to be done in a second Obama term. But I suggest one action is called for before we move past this election. I envision a collective “thank you” to the Latino voters who made this Obama victory possible. Without these voters, Obama could not have won.
On this Hallow’s Eve 2012, we are only 6 days away from another scary event – Election Day! Here in Oregon, we have the luxury of mail-in voting, and though we got our ballots almost 2 weeks ago, I just opened mine yesterday, and don’t intend to send it in (actually, bring it in to the county offices) until the last minute, as I always do.
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Well, that seems like a strong thing to say. Entire eras of American history have been defined by and named for certain administrations, and certainly there have been unique, exceptional actions performed by the individual officeholders. So why might it supposedly not matter? A lot of it has to do with Congress.
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I think we need to quickly bring back the good old days of the “guy” magazines. Maybe, just maybe, we could get some relief from the current phenomenon of the angry, conservative “hot talk” that fills our AM airwaves day and night.
Autumn conjures up hallowed thoughts of education. Scholars conversing under sturdy campus oaks. Visits to libraries late at night, haunted by information.
Yet harvest’s end heralds an older turn from physical to mental labor, one that predates mortarboards and standardized tests. It’s a release of time to reflect on our ways, raid the smokehouse of knowledge, slice into some farm-cured ideas. [Read More]
Last summer, I traveled with my son Tevan to Interlochen, Michigan, where he attended the Interlochen Summer Arts Camp, an amazing conglomeration of over 2000 kids from all over the world, studying music, theater, dance, creative writing, film and visual arts. [Read More]
Soaking in black raspberry vanilla scented water, classical poetry in song repairs Millie’s parched spirit. Her what the hell is it all about thoughts swirl clockwise — she pokes her big toe in the stopper’s loop pulling upward letting small amounts of water escape. The bathtub’s plumbing makes a ravenous sucking sound.
“After leaving an air show just before a crash, and reading an article about our government’s increasing reliance on drones, I imagined this column written by a witness to a flying robot crash in a future air show.” — R.W. Bonn
