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Birdless
2–3 minutesThe mornings I best remember are those of my elementary school summers. I’d wake up at 7 or 8 am, for no reason but the habit of school lingering into my sleep schedule. I’d have some cereal, and put on jean shorts, and a baggy cotton t-shirt, and black rubber rain boots, and the old
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Morning Grey
1–2 minutesI hear a train horn in the morning grey. I can so clearly imagine it down by the river. With each reverberation it pushes against the quiet, the rippled river, all the way out to the mouth of the ocean, and the coarse interior mountains at the end of the Columbia, the Snake, the Fraser,
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Sea and Sky
1–2 minutesBlue mountains fade like mist out of the water, reflections of each other, dawn to dawn, the haze of all horizons stretched over them. It seems these mountains are all water, that they are the sea and the sky at once; empty and cloudless yet full of something that is old and living. I stretch
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Real Birds
1–2 minutesOnce, in the middle of the night, I heard a squeak from the building across the street, some rumbling of the air conditioning or something, and I thought it was a bird, some exotic nighthawk on the roof, something beautiful, with eyes like smooth black stones, and a scarf of white around his neck. He
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