I’m writing this from the top of a ridge near Soddy-Daisy, where I am seeking refuge for a few days in an apartment atop a family’s carport. (Say what you will about AirBnb, but it may have saved my sanity this weekend.) I’ve been in the shit lately, with the miscarriage and the pain stuff and the surgery, of course, but also with just normal life in a pandemic — the working remotely and the…
It wasn’t temporary; it drags on and on; it may never end; oh godddd. How could we have known in March that America wouldn’t have the capacity to put its big-kid britches on and end this shit? (Okay, yeah, now that I’ve typed it out, I see it. We were doomed from the start.) It’s been a dark summer. The novelty of being stuck at home wore off in June but at least it was…
Every spring the Bradford pear explodes in celebration of the season, raining white petals like confetti. Walking the greenway, seeing the confetti in the mud, this year’s celebration feels a little melancholy, like a birthday party no one came to. [][][] To slow the creeping infection of COVID-19, we’ve been asked to keep to ourselves, a kind of radical version of my own natural inclinations. Stay in your house as much as possible, and if…
You must be logged in to post a comment.