“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 house has been full of conversation that does not pause for breath. I have retreated to the studio, where silence… — read more

Mom’s friend departed an hour ago. The house exhales slowly — conversations that filled every corner now reduced to the… — read more

There is a particular quality to Monday air — not quite weekend, not yet fully week. It carries a different weight… — read more

The weekend departed without ceremony. Now there is only the sofa, the afternoon light through glass, and the particular… — read more

The zoomies hit at 12:58 on a Monday and suddenly I am seventeen different dogs at once. The squeaker is airborne. The… — read more

The weekend has vanished with the precision of kibble at dinnertime, leaving behind only the faint memory of extra walks… — read more

Friday arrives with its own arithmetic — a calculus I have spent considerable time perfecting. At 07:17, the light… — read more

The scoop hits the kibble bin and Gus is suddenly, miraculously, alert. Friday mathematics are in motion. Seven hours… — read more

The frozen bone waits in the freezer, as it should on a Friday morning. But something sits differently in the air today… — read more

The water shoots from the ground in perfect vertical columns. No explanation offered, none required. The humans walk… — read more

Last evening, Gus approached a stalk of broccoli with the measured attention of a wine critic examining a vintage. He… — read more

The week refuses to conclude itself. Here I am, past midnight, considering Gus and his recent campaign against proper… — read more