Isn't it self explanatory?
Thursday night, we went to Dartmouth to watch the National Theatre broadcast of Benedict Cumberbatch's Hamlet. A fitting way to launch Halloween weekend, ghost story that it is. (If you have a chance to see broadcast in your town, definitely go. Cumberbatch's performance wasn't the only one worth seeing. Siân Brooke was a heartbreaking Ophelia,… Continue reading On repeat
Here we are again, my old friend November. You're a formidable foe, but you're on the way out for another year and I'm still writing. So, here's to you, November, and your relentlessly grey skies, your bare branches, your frozen water bucket mornings, your summerish deceptions, your early dusks, your inevitable lurch towards winter. I… Continue reading Let’s raise a glass
Earlier this evening I spied on the moon through the branches of the huge Maple tree in our yard. Now, when I'm here at my desk, wondering what on earth to write about, the moon is spying on me (M told me so just a minute ago). What can I possibly write that the moon… Continue reading The moon’s watching
The Birds are heading south, pulled by a compass in the genes. They are not fooled by this odd November summer, though we stand in our doorways wearing cotton dresses. We are watching them as they swoop and gather— the shadow of wings falls over the heart. When they rustle among the empty branches, the… Continue reading On this warm November day
This is how it started. It started because today is Gordon Lightfoot's birthday, so he was on my mind (regular readers know I have a thing about Gordon). Alarm went off (Nick Lowe crooning in my ear), but first thing I think is, "It's November 17. Gordon's birthday." And that's how it started. I opened… Continue reading Wormholing through Monday
"How about November?" asks poet Mary Ruefle (in her lecture "On Secrets") when, every April, she's asked to contribute to a poetry reading in recognition of National Poetry Month. April's been crowned the month of poetry, but what does April need with poems? April is her own poem, all hopeful, beckoning and unfurling. Poetry in… Continue reading How about November?
Día de los Muertos, Merida, Yucatan First, a wide-angled view, as if in a travel brochure, or watching from a high balcony, or the cathedral's tower: Four tourists, wandering the open city square, where vendors sell roasted ears of corn, slathered with mayonnaise, cheese, and spices. The decorated city streets radiate from the square like… Continue reading November 1
Assuming we have electricity... http://youtu.be/V4WGsMplGxU
