Growing up, seasons were determined by the smell of spring rains and barn-smoked tobacco, corn dust hanging in the evening fog and the clear-aired chill of winter. Just as familiar were the crop cycles of family farms and the advertised goods of local Amish communities. Springtime heralded turkey hunting and frog-gigging season while autumn was…Read more fallow

rapture | one

I struggle mightily at times, sensing an entire cosmos bound between my ears, silent. Like the depths of space, all creative potential and matter and darkness is twisted, tangled, entwined; nothing can escape the blackness. It ruptures and a smack of light pokes the distance. Word, thought, emotion, muscle flows from the hole. I’m overwhelmed; my body…Read more rapture | one