...before that troubled imprint, a land apart, and isles of parts, of shagged bark and burred wind...
Tag: memory
Eaton County Mammal
It's not a glamorous place to become a healer/poet. It’s neither east, nor west in the lower peninsula. Even to say peninsula gives you the idea of water nearby, but Eaton County, Michigan isn’t the place to find much of that. It’s undulating country sides-- ‘hilly’ may be too extreme a description. To the settlers… Continue reading Eaton County Mammal
Scottish Pubs
Jimmy scoffed, and kept pummeling me with his story...
Timeless Orkney
There was a lovely woman in Kirkwall, on my honeymoon with Scott in Orkney. I have one photo of her, and I remember her name being “Barbara.” She wore a red beret, large brown clogs and sweatpants. Typical of the acquaintances we easily made, she was from California. She had wanted to live in Orkney for… Continue reading Timeless Orkney
Begijnhof
Peace from the Resistance Truly special places cause all the other tourists around you to melt away, and you are left alone with the place. Yet, there is nary a spot of Amsterdam that hasn’t been overturned like a fertile field over and over. You will certainly find the Begijnhof by looking at the tourist brochures. It is in… Continue reading Begijnhof
The Trouble with Memory
The following is an exerpt from my memoir, a short part of the passage about memory I wrote last night. There's morebeyond the photo! Love that photo. *** "A few things I see in this new dream, namely the things she told me. I may have a feeling that I saw or heard something else.… Continue reading The Trouble with Memory
Mapping a Memory
THE MAP AND THE TERRITORY Luckily, the Google people are about finished roaming every passable thoroughfare in the western world. By its industry, I’ve roamed such disparate lands as Belgian woodland (rumored to contain abandoned cars from WWII), Chinese riverbanks (until the roads ran out), French sea coast towns (where I’ll live someday), and what… Continue reading Mapping a Memory
SHY
I see my desires float around him It's perfect—he has no tie to me. No hobby, no information. He reminds me of smoke, that when you open the door, it wafts out in breezes. So the thought of him is light and I become forgetful. -kerry e mckenna
