The artist who lives next door to us spent childhood summers at her relatives’ farm outside Chute-à-Blondeau, Ontario. She remembers the dizzying vastness of the blonde fields and of the frescoed chapel where they went for Sunday mass.
The first time I heard Primum Mobile perform, it was on a night just like last night: at the St. John’s College Winter Collegium.
Fellow nomads, meet Karan.
Hickory Nut Falls flows over the edge of Exclamation Point down 404 feet into the knobbled gorge of the Blue Ridge Escarpment, which separates the Blue Ridge Mountains from the Piedmont.
I won’t lie to you–sometimes nomadic life sucks balls.
At this time of year, the Blue Ridge Mountains look like a sunset melted all over them.
Behind the Halloween mask is our new friend Rick, a man of many talents.
Gerti loved the jacket I bought from her today at the Downtown Market–it’s just like one that she had in 1962, the year she left her village outside Munich to come to the US.
A therapist talks about ego, blind faith, and a hill in southeast Minnesota.
The ocean moves from a balmy 74 degrees to nearly 80 as the Blue Fin bounces ten miles from the Hatteras coast toward the Gulf Stream. The water’s change in color from brown to blue signals a rolling boil below the surface, caused by the warm front sent up from the south meeting the cold northern waters.