The January Gym is an overcrowded asses to elbows hell rush to wellness. A once-a-year event. It will swell with flesh again shortly ahead of summer, but this month, this now, this new year beginning is stand alone.   Everything reeks of resolution and self-loathing. New faces in new clothes staining in the sweat of want and willpower and wonderings of reshaping shapes mocking in mirrors since the holiday binge.   The November gym was busy, though swathes of open space brough

Folding new socks and thinking of the months I lived in my car. The cold of a new winter beginning. The thrift shop blanket I switched the tag on to save a fiver. Enough for food from a sunset to the next. Some days all at once. Others with nibbles through the hours.   My drawer is full. Full of new socks. I am unable to imagine a simpler symbol of my riches. And the drawer pulls adjacent to another. And there are four more drawers overflowing with abundance. The ease of my m

these waning days with a year nearing end weary with search for where new energies can begin and the constant calloused tending of the aging perimeter fences needing mend I wrote too many letters to the unliving drank a little too much cheap wine and kept forgetting to think of it all as inexpensive though my accumulations have been dutifully recorded by my many apps except for what mattered like those times I awoke in the stillness of the still dark everything silent and pur

Medium blue suit. Black mock turtle. Hair died blacker. Dude’s sitting beside begging me to be frozen in time. His seems about ’79. I’ve got co-workers who stopped around ’85. Our 21 st  Century is already a quarter past, but it’s hard to see sometimes. The woman door gliding in the classy slacks and fitted blouse. Accenting scarf. Very Katherine Hepburn. Circa ’37. And she’s young. Dressing old works with youth. Dressing young works less with old. I’ll keep that in the back

They call it an hour gained but it all feels irretrievably lost. The Moon near full took precedence. Bluing no evidence there had ever been a summer.   The Dark Hour is the beginning of Winter in my mind. Calendric precision aside, the reversal of time turns my season cold from warm. The jet lag first week of a morning brain dawning in confused ache. The evening commute burned into a night grind of near midnight feel filled with head-on headlights refraction.   October ghosts

A haunted walking tour with added spirit. She wore a silly hat. A dad hat. Black. With a little ghost. A silly ghost. And she had another silly ghost on her black polo. That’s how we knew she was the ghost tour guide.   I believe in ghosts. Take my paranormal experiences as profoundly genuine. Having moved past the maybe, maybe-nots a long time ago, I am often diving into deeper disquisitions of the unexplained.   And I like ghost tours. I can explore a haunted tour any time

Small towns with independent bookstores offer solace. Our recent adventure for hiking in the Shenandoah Valley found us staying just...

Hoppin' On and Hoppin' Off Around Paris Paris is a river. It is easy to miss the point.   The city of so many icons overwhelms with...

In the full of the field of ripened Sweet Charlies I kissed her.   Pick-your-own strawberry season in Hampton Roads is a short, lip sweet...

On the run for home Seven minutes. We have seven minutes to make a 12-minute journey. Lingering is not an option. Experience reminds us...

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A cultural escape from culture. Culture is hard to find in our little big town. Strange, considering we have a funded district dedicated...

In the blue. My reflection. Without stillness. Hard edges blurred. Moving in the light. The light so brilliant bright. With back...

It rained for three days. I listened. Trying to write of the sound. Sounds. Different tones from different places. In bed. By the window....

A Williamsburg Staycation Her face seemed kind. Knowing. She stopped in the middle of the path we now all shared. I think of a Doe as...

A month without. A month within. Big Brother’s pickup was parked in the front yard. A half truck length from the street. Just short of...

the January cold slow shows my scars from the road from the night everything changed across my chest and mid and my neck sometimes goes...

And other stuff that happened on a Monday night The rise of many hands with grace. Palms open. Fingertips tipping the top of our silence....

I could blame the Librarian. Her sunless face. That dress off the Madewell mannequin. I wasn’t even at her station. Eavesdropping is what...

A quintet of lacey white dresses, hems an inch from their asses. A mom enables with the lift of a lens and the teens turn to porcelain....