How do I even begin with this day? The day was Thursday the 4th of March in the year 2010. I love Cochabamba. It happened suddenly—that morning, I think, in fact, yes. I love Cochabamba. I don't know how to describe this sentiment really. I don't even know how to describe this city fully. But [...]
I am, of course, no longer in Costa Rica. I have, in fact, been gone from its fair shores for over two weeks. I would like, all the same, to attempt some consideration of my time there, my January. I write this first and with certainty: I was home in Tamarindo. My apartment with Sarah [...]
I am pictured above on the morning of my departure from the United States, on January 4th, 2010. My mother took this photograph in our house in Hamilton, Massachusetts. I appear to have many possessions with me—two bags-full, in fact—and such is true. I had to choose those items such as socks, shirts, books, electronics, [...]
My celestial honor guard sways with each step and washes away on every warm wave. I stood for long moments, minutes innumerably finite, with my feet in the nighttime rhythms of the Pacific and my head craned upward toward the stars. My gaze wheeled among the constellations and I considered my life and your life [...]
I have no photograph to accompany this story. And that is right. And I am not certain that I should even write the story but then I might lose the memory, flown away like every day and every sunset. The sun had disappeared and still I sat on my board, floating happily out near the [...]
I remain now in Baltimore, sitting and waiting and yawning in the airport, with a barely deiced plane on its way from Boston to discharge passengers and, thereby emptied, consume us for a return again. I slept four hours last night between the first-ever fully completed crossword charades and the morning's downstairs arrival of recently [...]
I am home or, that is to say, I am in Hamilton. My physical home in Seattle exists no longer in our leasing, the keys having been returned and the floors having been swept (probably), but I still hear about me the echoes, and feel the tugs, of that emotional space. My heart... my heart [...]
