These three things struck me about the way Gopnik writes about place. Perhaps they contain a few lessons that will help us in writing about where we’re from, where we are, and where we’re yet to go.
Still, grace is not always a shout. Sometimes, it’s a whisper. Sometimes, it’s day zero, rather than the third day.
A few days later I was back in Seattle and it felt like coming home, like jumping into your bed’s cold sheets and warming them as you fall asleep. I feel bad about that, for loving two places at once.
I really appreciate the time you’ve taken to get to know me. You, my friend, are the master of mixtapes. Each week, you introduce me a new crop of tunes.
The Brain—is wider than the Sky—
For—put them side by side—
The one the other will contain
With ease—and You—beside—
When a church breaks, her people realize they broke her themselves. By not acknowledging the extent of our own broken fingers and bent hearts, we pursued something that might not have been the gospel.
The light pooled on the horizon, stretching like taffy, growing and receding. When it faded away in one direction, we looked behind us to see it growing in another corner of the sky. It seemed to breathe.
If a Bart sings in the woods and no one hears him, does he make a sound?
As a young teenager, I always assumed that once you got married, you and your partner just sort of…stayed the same.
This is the curtain call, a standing ovation for being present. We all saw the curtain between earth and heaven rise and fall again.