Category Archives: Uncategorized

April 29, 2014 My family was poor when I was very young. If we camped in the ShawneeNational Forest we had to catch fish in order to stay. A crappie haul from the lake meant one more day on the … Continue reading →

April 30, 2014 “Water” is the central word and metaphor of my life. My mother and I drowned I in it, Mom by a killer’s hand, and me falling through the ice on the Illinois River on a twelve degrees … Continue reading →

April 20, 2014 The perfume of the river valley is overwhelming, and so are the buffalo gnats.  The harsh winter seems to have made the noseeums more aggressive, or perhaps it is my imagination. Just walking from the front door … Continue reading →

April 17, 2014 Gabriel Garcia Marquez has died at age 87. Gabo was the father of magical realism, in which characters see fantastic images, such as dead loved ones still dogging them or fantastic images of butterfly swarms as portents … Continue reading →

This is the day. The forest is olive hued, as soft wood trees push out the babies and there are fields of lush green grass reflected in the opalescent eyes of my chattering-at-birds cat. Three weeks ago I could see … Continue reading →

Everyone please take a look at the article written about me in today’s Alton Telegraph!

April 8, 2014  On the Genehouse walk it was a day of gift finding. Climbing down Clifton Terrace Road on the east side, I came upon a dead box turtle. I knew it was dead because the elaborate shell markings … Continue reading →

April 5, 2014 I did the Genehouse walk this fine, sunny afternoon. The tree buds are thickening and jonquils and daffodils are abloom and the Final Four was coming up, on CBS. I stopped to see Farmer Orville. He was … Continue reading →

April 3, 2014 The rain began two nights ago and continues to this moment, early Thursday morning. My south woods are enshrouded in fog, the tree shafts rising like an army of dark giants. The river looks like lentil soup … Continue reading →

March 29, 2014 1. Beginning. Sometime early in the 70s. I am working at Grace Lutheran Church in Chicago, a liberal hotbed of a place which houses the National Hotline for Runaways, offers free meals and clothes for indigents, and … Continue reading →