TribeWritingBook ClubGiveawayTravelMisc

April 8, 2013

Isabella’s Rainbow

Izzabella’s Rainbow Red Roses Style. With Annotations. roses are red violets are blue izzy is freckled and smells like the dew (‘cept her breath, which smells like black plague.) cookie’s a monster and kermit is green izzy likes ankles if you know what i mean (she doesn’t bite. but she likes to hump.) oranges are orange lilies are white izzy’s like wind and my heart is a kite (‘cept when she breaks wind. then my heart is a gas mask.) bananas are yellow purples are plum izzy’s a howler we make great singing’ chums (‘cept when we’re off key, then […]
April 7, 2013

Scenes from a Coffee Shop

Izzy and I are no strangers to coffee shops. Most mornings we go over to see Kit and Carol at Coffee Cats in downtown Taos. For three years we’ve been sitting at the same blue table, on the same white bench, gazing out the same glass windows over the same trees, sometimes green and pliant, sometimes yellow and quivering, sometimes bare and achingly still. Those trees, we know them from root to branch as they converse with us on the wind through the open window. Izzy lifts her head to sniff out tidings carried on the breeze: of sap and […]
November 12, 2012

This Right Here

“All of life is saying goodbye.” I’m musing on that quote, and Izzy’s nebulous prognosis, as we climb into the car. We’re headed to the park for our ritual morning walk, and the sky is big and cloudless, mocking my shadowed thoughts. Its true blue light fills the heart with enough helium to make it burst from happiness. Izzy’s nose and paws are out the car window, sniffing up the sunshine and sage. It’s that simple for her. Look at this. Smell that. Sit on the lap and enjoy the ride. The feel of her snuggled between me and the […]
October 8, 2012

Becoming the Water

It was an old and beautiful library that smelled faintly of cedar and Charles Dickens. Books on the walls, deep, velvet cushioned chairs and couches, the whole place softly lit with deep thoughts. It was the final day of autobiography class with a dynamic and highly sought-after professor. Each of us had ten minutes to read from our final essay paper. An hour into it, a woman in her late 20’s with a soft smile and 80’s hangover perm began reading about ducks on a pond. She must have been good, because I could see the dust motes swirling in […]