Winter, I’m giving notice. I’m quitting. I’m out. I’m done-zo. No need to bring in HR for an exit interview. I barely have anything in my desk anyway—a packet of tissues, a pair of mittens, a small box of festering despair. You can burn my file. I was about to do that for warmth anyway.…
The first snowstorm of the season came on hard and fast. Streets became slalom courses. Trees dripping with meringue. The world finally hushed and stilled for all the right reasons instead of for all the strangest ones. Snow needled my face as I carefully made my way through the slippery, thickly carpeted streets down to…
A few things have transpired since I took this photo in early May. The virus has wreaked havoc with our lives, bringing us and “normal” to our knees. Jobs don’t look and feel like they once did. Schools are operating wild west, frontier style. A little over a week ago, insurrectionists stormed our nation’s capital…
FADE IN EXT. TRANSFER STATION (AKA. THE LOCAL DUMP), RURAL TOWN—DAY A WOMAN in her “thirty-tens,” but often mistaken for younger (not-so-humble-brag owned) drives into the transfer station. She makes her way around the short loop to pull up next to the dumpsters. Two men work at the station: SAM and MEL. They both are…
I spend twenty minutes wandering around a paved path that loops up over several short grassy hills trying to find “Author’s Ridge,” the plateau where Louisa May Alcott, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Henry David Thoreau are buried. There is big nineteenth-century nerd energy here in the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord Massachusetts. Designed…
