The dry season ended, all of a sudden, and the sky became dark and wet and the air turned cold and all the leaves fell. At first I was taken aback by all of this, because I hadn’t wanted it to happen. I was feeling like a victim of the seasons, like one of those … Continue reading chocolate covered bacon and the meaning of the wintertime
the cold
light bulbs, chihuahuas, and writing about myself
My new apartment is two square rooms, a yellow kitchen counter, and the hum of the fridge. It is the click-click of the baseboard heaters and the cold blue light of the stark-white walls. I have not hung artwork yet. I just moved yesterday from a one-room cottage with a woodstove to this land of … Continue reading light bulbs, chihuahuas, and writing about myself
Look! I wrote something!
My chemistry homework makes an appearance, as does North Dakota. ----------------------------- S A D --------- It has gotten cold here, sometimes sometimes it is not cold, but the air is filled with water like someone is misting us like we are fragile plants that need misting It has gotten sometimes cold but dark dark, dark, … Continue reading Look! I wrote something!
spring summer everything
spring but it's cold. But we know it's spring because the light is out later, and then there is moonlight, the fullmoon, and it's like the light above the river never leaves, where the trees break, over the water, between the mountains, where the sky lives, the big open part of the world, as if … Continue reading spring summer everything
Dispatches from the night-time
It’s so late, and yet here I am. It’s cold in Portland, cold, cold, cold. Not Alaska cold, but cold for here, and clear, and all the stars are stuck frozen like glass slivers in the dim lid of the sky, the night sky that’s all milky and faded from light pollution and the particulates … Continue reading Dispatches from the night-time
everything
I sleep with the windows open and it’s cold now, as wintry as Portland will get. In the mornings I come up as if from the bottom of a deep hot pit and the cold air bites the tip of my nose where it sticks out from my ten hundred blankets and my sleeping bag, … Continue reading everything
CARROT QUINN 
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