Category: ~

  … for you know as well as I do that under certain circumstances, at a certain temperature, metaphorically speaking, words lose their substance, their content,...

  Lord, lead him beside those still waters,            those green pastures,for his dreams glare of florescent halls,and his thoughts are collections of knives....

  “Everything has a pulse,” he says. We’re having coffee, sitting in a small alcove high above Finlayson Arm, that lurid-blue limb of sea that narrows toward Go...

  On a sun-splattered path through a stand of birch, we walked back to his hermitage for tea, but an Indigo Milk Cap caught his eye and he stopped,and brought t...