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PAUL CHRISTENSEN
THE RAIN IT RAINETH EVERY DAY
It's raining out, the drops coming down like fingers picking off the red and yellow leavers of the maple trees like someone putting away...
GHOSTS AND MEMORIES
They're beginning to park the snowplows on the corners of city streets, and along the country roads. They say the more apples there are...
NUTSHELLS
The air has a certain thin resemblance to the smell of nutshells. I remember holding up a walnut shell to my nose after I ate the nut,...
SUMMER'S END
Summer is like old gold, dark with age. You feel its strength become mellow and pliable in the soft breezes. There is wisdom in the heat...
THE ASSUMPTION
The village is getting ready to celebrate one of the great turning points of the year, the feast of the Assumption on August 15th, when...
THE ABSENCE AT THE HEART OF SUMMER
The last day of July and it is cool at this hour, a little before three p.m. here in southern France. A breeze is blowing, and the sky is...
THE JOYS AND SORROWS OF JULY
The tourists are not so abundant as in past summers. I can tell by how many camera-toting Dutch and Germans come down the main street in...
MAJESTIC AFTERNOONS
It's late afternoon in my little French village. The shadows are pools of gray poured over the sizzling gold sidewalks. Very quiet about...
BACK TO FRANCE
I'm back in France after an unrelenting winter, with bitter winds and rains that fell like lead pellets. The news of flooding was pretty...
SECOND SIGHT
I've noticed as I grow older that my conscious mind is not so defensive about its executive authority. I feel the steady encroachment of...
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