Weavings

Last spring my wife, Diana, and I planted seeds in the basement under fluorescent lights; there were rows of lettuce, spinach, tomatoes, pepper, and eggplant. Each time we descended the stairs we were drawn to the soft glow in the darkness and the spindly, green shoots rising upward. We often commented on the way this tentative but steady growth had captured our... Keep Reading →

While walking in the late summer woods recently I came across an opening and found blackberries ripening in the afternoon sun. The berries sparkled like small dark orbs, like “thickened wine,” as the poet Seamus Heaney put it in his poem Blackberry Picking. After tasting the sweetness of the first one I eagerly gathered the closest berries, and eventually extended my arm... Keep Reading →