Category Archives: The Other Village

I’m often awake deep in the night. Not that I’m troubled; it’s just a feature of long life. While I might struggle to meditate during a busy day, I can easily stand by a moonlit window and just be an … Continue reading →

Nobody starts college without going through freshman orientation and getting a student handbook. But anyone can move up north from Florida and dive straight into a North Country winter with no preparation whatsoever. What could possibly go wrong? A Newcomer’s … Continue reading →

Sugar season: when one of my old Listening Post essays can be boiled down into 31 syllables, it tastes sweeter. Spring Morning One daffodil in a vase on the kitchen table in a pool of sunlight.Coffee in shirtsleevesbefore an open window.

When you’ve lived in one place a long time, the touchstones of memory can be found anywhere, taking you by surprise, taking you back into the past between one bite and the next. When We Were Flyers While eating my … Continue reading →

If the regional Chambers of Commerce ever need someone to promote the many virtues of our fair neck of the woods, I stand ready to shoulder the task. For example… A Worrier’s Guide to the North Country I’ve always been … Continue reading →

Photo: Maliz Ong, released to public domain There is a qualitative difference between grace and its near relative, luck. Luck, for good or for ill, is bestowed randomly by an indifferent universe. Grace feels like a personal gift from one … Continue reading →

People, and poets in particular, easily fall into thinking that the beaty of the world is created just for their pleasure. Yeah, but no. Flowers Dress to Please the Bees Few regard the sundew deep in the marshor delight in … Continue reading →

Here’s another poem from an April poem-a-day challenge, 2010, maybe. Our daughter Elena was grown and flown, building a life for herself in the Boston area. Parenting Hanging out in your old room propped up on your pillowsstaring at the same … Continue reading →

Just ran across a draft of this written back when I was doing an April poem-a-s-day challenge. I think it cleans up nicely. Fluid Dynamics The whirlpool behind Sugar Island damwhere snowmelt drops to the penstocksends ripples back across the … Continue reading →

When I was young, there were still a few quarry-trained masons working with Potsdam sandstone. As young men they rode the narrow-gauge rail line from the quarry five miles downstream to the stone yard. Memories fade out over time, which … Continue reading →