It’s raining again this morning and has been all night, but before that was a too-long stretch of nothing. The fires in the hills are soft now and the smoke is turning into fog and settling around the cracks of READ MORE


Tonight I am out under the stars with a short glass and a cigar— the fire has died down to embers and it’s been a hot, dry day but there’s that wet autumn crispness in the air now and the grass READ MORE


One of the last of the summer mornings happened today.  I sat under the shade of our umbrella, which is a muddy red this year instead of the usual cannery yellow, and watched the boys dig holes in the sand pit READ MORE


I was already gone by then, you nearly were too. He was an old man himself, with skin tanned and rough and a once gentle brow had cured determined. He came to visit you and your eyes were heavy. It READ MORE


Yesterday evening I collected a thermos filled with soup from my wife along with some fresh bread she had baked and took the boys to the field for soccer. I parked in the shade of the tall elm and stretched out across the READ MORE


“How much longer?” She had asked me. “I really don’t know.” I had said, and I nearly meant it too. “Where are the buttons to make the electric locks go?” Someone had called. “I can’t remember.” My voice yelled back. “Why READ MORE