At first I thought it was a burlap bag left on the road by workers; summer is the only feasible time frame in Michigan for construction.
All tagged summer
At first I thought it was a burlap bag left on the road by workers; summer is the only feasible time frame in Michigan for construction.
I climb aboard the giant orange pillow, socks sliding on the rubber, and find my spot in the jostling hordes.
Man, what a tough crowd.
I have been afraid of water since I was six.
I wake up early. Stomach churns. Panic. A gust of terror that has no language to support it.
We huddled together, silent, as we tiptoed past tombstones and stumbled over crumbling stone walls, the moon our lone guiding light.
I ran and hid in the lush round evergreen on the corner before the moon came and the mothers called us in.
An unusually cold Australian winter morning. The light creeps just so, momentarily tricking me into thinking I’m tucked away in my London apartment, despite the distance in years since I've lived there.
Downtown in summer just before punk exploded, we walked 7th Avenue around Christopher Street past the leather bars. He was so tall, he took two steps for my every one.
Enjoying rare solitude, I breathe, feeling invisible under the leafy ceiling. A flash and clap break my reverie.