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PAUL CHRISTENSEN
SPRING HAS NOT YET SPRUNG
The weather here reminds me of Robert Eggers’ recent film, The Lighthouse, about a world of gloomy overcast skies and penetrating New...
The Hinge of Summer's Door
The vernal equinox came and went, like a cat creeping over the newly sprouted heads of anonymous weeds. You hardly knew, unless you were...
The Snow It Snoweth Every Day
We're getting another snowstorm this afternoon. It almost makes me break down in sobs I am so tired of freezing winds and storms coming...
WINTER ON ARTHRITIC KNEES
There is no greater pleasure in these dark days than to see the icicles on the porch eave melting in steady streams, like pouring water...
WHAT IS THE ICE THINKING?
It's snowing again, and cold. Very cold. We had to pry the ice off the windshield with two scrapers; the first broke when I tried to...
THE RHYMES OF NATURE
Old snow. It's like the linens piled up in a corner of a thrift shop, the kind passed down from grandmother to mother and then to a...
WHILE BOSTON SLEEPS
We watched the snow piling up in Boston streets. The air was a scrim of crystals tumbling out of the nothing above. The streetlights were...
OF MICE AND MEN
When you step outside my front door, your feet touch what feels like a mirror, an oiled mirror that was made for you to slip on, perhaps...
IN THE ICY WOMB OF WINTER
My wife noted this morning that the temperature gauge outside our kitchen widow read minus 9 degrees. The windows in the bedroom were...
WHERE ARE THE SNOWS OF YESTERYEAR?
The yard looks like a thrift store exploded and left behind all these threadbare white shirts, many of them stained and knotted up. But...
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