My Provinceland: Ceded Back to Nature

As we’re packing up to leave, we talk to John about the dead seal. He confirms that someone has been shooting the seals this summer because they gawp up bait and compete for the catch of the commercial fishermen.

Catch of the Day

Alhambra would be her first priority tomorrow, with the Alcabaza fort a close second. Picasso would have to be fitted in on Sunday afternoon. What would she say to her shrink?


It was my ninety-fifth day in Delhi, and I had now known enough of the city to hate it as much as I could. The air was lazy, the people were lazy, the weather was lazy.

Our Dear Fathers

The nights were still cold in the Northeast, and the freight train lurched and shook while we sat in silence against its wall. I climbed the side of the car to look out to the dark hills and then into a forest.


“You’re standing smack in the middle of the rose capital of the world, how does it smell?” Yolie, my local host on a misadventure to Wasco, California, beamed.

The Reefing Line

I lived and that meant not doing all the non-living things I did in New York. Sleeping too much. Drinking too much constantly hunting for sex.


Shelburne Falls is cold, bright and distant, coated in the sleep of nightfall and the blinking watch of the Great Bear and Little Bear. There are no streetlamps here. Only endless frames of trees and ice leading to a house with an attic and a wraparound porch.