Tag: wandering

after Livingston

that August in Livingston, we meant just me and the small dog tracing the bends in the river into the far edge of afternoon one of us thinking of rolling ourselves into the landscape for keeps just for the peace, the other enthralled by sudden … Continue reading after Livingston


down east

it was late November when I drove toward Maine I still hear how the wind tore across the highway, rattling doors and nearly blowing that tired red Buick into the frozen ditch I had second, third - hell sixth thoughts on the other side of … Continue reading down east

a song of home

song in silvery descent beats in sweet repeats the tug of lodestones, the clamant lure of westward-leading winding winds, I sing the binding beck of springing grove and blooming troves of heather, let the tune renew the sweet enchantments the road has written upon my … Continue reading a song of home