There’s nothing left to do in my day, the space heater is on and the yellow lamps are burning and my dogs need nothing from me. Outside it’s dusk, the bright fall day turned indistinct and then twilight blue, the damp cold air embracing everything. I ate parsnips and beef cooked in bacon grease and … Continue reading brightness, darkness, lightness, happiness
the night
chocolate covered bacon and the meaning of the wintertime
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 enchanted valley and things that do not happen
Hello! You may have read an early draft of this story, about the Duckabush Arson of last year, from a link on a hiking website. This early draft has been posted without my permission, and actually violates my publishing agreement with Amazon, and can get me in a lot of trouble. If you're the one … Continue reading the enchanted valley and things that do not happen
torrential rainfall and the disputed kingdom Protista
It’s been raining torrentially all day- this morning we took the dogs to kelly point park, the superfund site where the metallic Columbia meets the sewage-filled Willamette, and big cold drops began to pelt us as soon as we stepped from the car. We walked along the path through the woods, throwing Emy’s ball before … Continue reading torrential rainfall and the disputed kingdom Protista
The brief wondrous life of Sonny Riccobono
It was march, and Seamus and I had just started dating. The rain clouds, while still black-grey and flinging down torrents of water, were broken, now, in moments, by patches of glorious, syrupy yellow light- the steamy northwest sun, emerging naked from its long, introspective sauna. Seamus and I decided to go to Olympia for … Continue reading The brief wondrous life of Sonny Riccobono
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
water, dreams, cupcakes, the ocean floor
My dreams have been so magnificent lately. Picture this: It is the end of the world. The lowlands are filled with clear water. All you clothing is red. It’s warm, and someone is coming after you. You have to swim. You have to hide. You have to cross narrow trestles that glisten in the moonlight. … Continue reading water, dreams, cupcakes, the ocean floor
The Lake
you have so many freckles and your skin smells like chocolate. Last month it smelled like oregano and coffee, but now you smell like chocolate milk chocolate like milk chocolate dust hot chocolate powder eaten by the spoonful dipped in water licked. You are perfect. You do not think that you are perfect because you … Continue reading The Lake
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!
r o o t s
My father lives on Crataegus lane in Alaska. Crataegus is the latin name for Hawthorne, according to a dusty book I found in the library. There are three types of Hawthorne in the book, which catalogs a section of Pennsylvania representative of “all of the trees from Virginia northward into Canada and westward to the … Continue reading r o o t s
CARROT QUINN 
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