Blue.

Blue. The color outside at dusk, because it is winter, and we are in Poland, and there is a lot of snow. Blue. My mother’s face, body, as her blood pressure drops so low she passes out and the doctors swarm around her. Blue. My father’s eyes wide open in panic as he runs from…

Photographs

During the warmest months I walk barefoot in the backyard, grass between my toes, picking the reddest tomatoes from the garden, smelling my mom’s flowers, but only letting her cut them to put them in vases around the house. I photograph them before as evidence: look how they grew, flourished; also as a necessary reminder…

Skipping Stones

“I’ve learned through the years that it’s not where you live, it’s the people who surround you that make you feel at home.”  ― J.B. McGee, Skipping Stones

What autumn brings

What autumn brings is hope. “How can that be,” you ask, “when everything is dying?” In spite of this, no, because of this, we are forced to ask and then act in consideration to answer: what is the meaning of all of this? I walk along paths covered in leaves and shelter my eyes with…