A Small Sound

A Small Sound

An eerie fear creeps in, the kind that grows in stature the longer you don’t know where a sound is coming from. The longer you don’t know.

The Gluttony of Fear

The Gluttony of Fear

Deep in the those woods, where the Severn River winds through White spruces and Balsam firs, I wonder if any of the trees are old enough to have lived during both Jack’s lifetime and my own.

Realized, Realizing

Realized, Realizing

Our archaeology professor was a young, soft-spoken postdoc who lectured with a thick Italian accent in a lilting, almost sing-song way: “The Etruscan potter realized the bowl from native clay.”

Wyoming

Wyoming

My heart thunders as I pass the unglittering sign staking out the bucking bronco state: WELCOME TO WYOMING – FOREVER WEST. Here, I think, lies a land I’ve never traveled.

Everything is Fake. We’re All Going to Die.

Everything is Fake. We’re All Going to Die.

I’m over here with the cognitive capacity to panic endlessly about my impending doom, and I actually have to face that doom, while amoeba don’t even have the cognitive capacity to distinguish Bob the Builder from Dora the Explorer, and they basically get to live forever.

the post calvin