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Tag Archives: William Stafford
I pushed my bicycle up the dusty hill. Everything is harder these days, but I try to keep moving. In the distance there was a blur of bright color…the blue of a dress, a luminous streak of pale blonde hair. … Continue reading
Having returned late the previous night from a brief sojourn south, I decided to go for an early morning walk up the canyon to clear my mind. I am incredibly fortunate to be able to step outside and be in … Continue reading
We went on a road trip with our friends Kit and Beverly and spent two nights in a pair of Airstream trailers. The one Monte and I stayed in was like a tin can, its interior metal walls left mostly bare except for … Continue reading
How you stand here is important. How you listen for the next things to happen. How you breathe. (William Stafford) “How you fall is also important,” says my friend Nyuol, who is twenty-six but very wise. “If you fall, … Continue reading
When I told my friend Dorothy I was trying to overcome my muteness, she wrote to me about white lilacs. In their brief season, she said, they are “white like brides, with less than a month of blooming, not questioning … Continue reading
Even in the cave of the night when you wake and are free and lonely, neglected by others, discarded, loved only by what doesn’t matter–even in that big room no one can see, you push with your eyes till forever … Continue reading
A RITUAL to READ to EACH OTHER by William Stafford If you don’t know the kind of person I am and I don’t know the kind of person you are a pattern that others made may prevail in the world … Continue reading
The problem with blogging – or writing in general – is that the less you do of it the harder it is to get back into it. That isn’t for lack of material. It’s because so much has cumulatively happened … Continue reading
I am writing this at 2 a.m. in a room that is filled with moonlight. I couldn’t sleep, so I crept out of bed and found my way to the sofa, laptop in hand. Through the front windows I can … Continue reading