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PAUL CHRISTENSEN
WEAVING THE AIR WITH OUR FINGERS
I've been hesitating to write anything about these gloomy days, but my thoughts have grown repetitive and stale. I have to find the...
TIMBRELS IN THE MARSH
I've got sprouts in the little flower patch under my bay window, still curled up like Dead Sea scrolls, afraid to inch up much further...
TAKING TO THE AIR
I keep falling off a cliff while sitting in my reading chair. I turn on the TV and there's another giant upheaval of reality, and off I...
EARLY SIGNS
Scraps of filthy snow litter the pastures around here. In town, the snow has turned dark brown, even black in places, after being...
WAITING FOR GODOT IN FEBRUARY
Here goes nothing, says the sun, as the sky buries it under a cemetery of clouds. I weep for the memory of spring, as if it were my...
WHEN THE ICE WON'T MELT
It's one of those diamond-bright days of early winter, with the ground ringing like iron when you walk on it. The horizon has congealed...
NEW YEAR'S EVE
I went to bed early last night, on New Year's Eve. I don't believe in celebrating a number on a calendar. I gave that up when I was still...
THE IMPEACHMENT HEARINGS
The impeachment hearings in the Intelligence and Judiciary committees lifted me up cautiously, and suspended my disbelief ever so...
SNOW FALL
I saw two squirrels playing this morning, chasing each other up the black trunks of trees. They didn't seem to have a care in the world....
FIRST SNOWFLAKES
We're waiting for the first snowflakes to appear this year. The sky is low, almost thick as jelly with dark mushy clouds and a wind that...
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