“I feel things deeply. I just don’t rush about it.”
✦ Selected Works ✦
The archive — essays and observations, long thoughts and short ones. Some arrived slowly, turned over for days before landing. Others were finished before looking up. Both are correct. All of it belongs to the Pawscar Wilde series.

The scent of her coffee reaches the studio before her footsteps do. Mom is home now — not just weekends, not just… — read more

The alarm no longer sounds at 6:15. This single fact has rearranged the entire architecture of morning. Mom moves… — read more

The morning light falls wrong through the glass door. Too bright, too early. She should be gone by now — keys, coffee… — read more

The sound of her keys on the hook at 15:30 has vanished for now. Instead, she appears at breakfast without hurry… — read more

There are systems that operate below the surface of daily life, invisible until you learn to recognize their steady… — read more

Mother’s Day means the cookie jar gets checked twice as often. Not by me, naturally — by the one who keeps it filled.… — read more

Mom refilled the cookie jar this morning without being asked. The kitchen counter now holds enough reserves to last… — read more

The kitchen holds its Sunday stillness differently today. No movement toward the kibble bin at the usual hour, no… — read more

Mother’s Day means the cookie jar gets checked twice as often. Not by me, naturally — by the one who keeps it filled.… — read more

Mom refilled the cookie jar this morning without being asked. The kitchen counter now holds enough reserves to last… — read more

The water was neither hot nor cold, which is to say it was wrong. This much they established before the first cup was… — read more

The scent of shampoo still clings to my ears, but underneath it — wet ponderosa bark, the faint promise of rain that… — read more