woman on street.
The clip-clop means purpose, an up-tempo stride toward a new evening to conquer. Clip-clops bounce from buildings and parked cars and return in rhythm, like laughter or rain. Clip-clop of pain that returns at once, like salmon or the swallows of Capistrano. Clip-clops quickly away from one more disaster of purpose, another whispered clip-clop end. -gj
Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves. They flickered out...– “Bubbles,” by Carl Sandburg
When Nathan was a child, he found her in a snow bank. He recognized her limbs, her body, her face, and discovered she was sleeping soundly. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he decided he would tell no one. Instead, he traced her features with his mitten and lay down next to her, his little secret. He named her Emily. He searched for her, missing the coolness of her touch,...
All men lead their lives behind a wall of misunderstanding they have themselves...– Sherwood Anderson, from “Poor White”
woman on train.
I took the train today, through another of the bitingly cold winter mornings of the season. These mornings work systematically for the commuters that frequent the station: we meet at the newspapers, the ticket window, the platform; we puff warm air out of our chapped lips and sip coffees with two creams and two sugars. We are the working-class walking dead, huddled just inside the swinging glass ...