I don’t believe in losing hope.I believe in finding itperhaps by making pestoor deadheading iriseswhen I can be surroundedby what’s still alive:my garden, defying a childhoodframed in the gutter’s littertossed newspapers soaked in rain,smudged in dog shit. The dead-endstreet around the corneroffered paradise—an empty lotwith flowering weeds.Was that a lossof hope? Or a graspingfor what... Continue Reading →

Today, I want to think about the clean slate of soil in the garden bed, and the old cat stretched to his max on the living room floor. When will I tire of his incalcitrant incontinence, scoop him off the hard wood and drop his fluff into the grass outside? Does he think about this... Continue Reading →