“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 light leaves differently on Sunday nights. Earlier and with less ceremony than it should. I have been watching — read more

Ball ball ball ball BALL and then it stops and I am standing in the exact center of the universe holding nothing and Gus — read more

Mom and Dad put on their green jerseys at 13:30. They have been checking the time since 13:00. The match starts at 13:45 — read more

The television makes sounds that suggest someone is not performing adequately. Mom and Dad lean forward on the sofa. — read more

Mom changes into her Timbers jersey at exactly 1:30. Dad puts on his scarf. They sit on the edge of the sofa — read more

Mom left for three days and the house has become something else entirely. Gus found the sandwich first. — read more

There is a particular quality to Sunday morning light that makes ordinary rooms feel like they are holding their breath. — read more

Sunday arrives with its particular weight — slower than Saturday, heavier than the days that follow. — read more

Sunday arrives without agenda, a slow exhale after the week’s careful accumulations. The house holds — read more

Sunday morning arrives without urgency. The light through the glass door falls differently — read more

The light falls differently on Saturdays. Not technically—the physics remain unchanged — read more

Saturday light slants differently through the glass. Longer shadows, no urgency. The week's familiar sounds — read more