“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.

Dad produced crepes this morning. Not pancakes—crepes. The distinction appears meaningful to him, though both are… — read more

The scent of butter browning in the cast iron pan carries something beyond breakfast. It settles into the kitchen walls… — read more

The yard smelled different this morning. Something sweet lingered between the junipers – not the usual pine and earth… — read more

The yard holds scattered mysteries in robin’s egg blue and buttercup yellow. I catalog each one during my morning… — read more

Twenty-three bright ovals scattered across the grass this morning, each one carrying the particular weight of someone… — read more

Many colored orbs scattered across the grass like someone finally answered a question nobody asked. Each one precisely… — read more

The smell hits me before I see them. Dozens of plastic eggs scattered across the yard like someone threw confetti that s — read more

The humans are screaming at the television and I am here for every decibel of it. Green shirts running. Ball flying. — read more

The sound of car keys has always meant something different from house keys – one opens doors, the other opens worlds. — read more

The phrase builds in predictable stages: “yous guys” — mild interest. “wants to gos” — moderate attention. “to Good Dogs — read more

The car keys have a different weight this morning than house keys. Even from the donut bed I can tell which ones Dad — read more

The photographer arrived with equipment that suggested permanence — tripods have a way of announcing their intentions. — read more