I hear water music in my sleep: foghorns, and the scratchy voice of a Great Blue Heron, frogs in the marsh. There is the tide as it slides out, then rushes back-the ocean breathing in and out. I dream all the voices in a room filled with people but I can make out only snatches of dialogue, a little blond girl saying, “Change is a fast-moving current,” and a tall, thin professor who explains, “the explicate lies enfolded in the implicate.”
Continue reading… "Acceleration"
From the moment Rebecca Blackwell entered the fourth grade classroom, Maggie felt it, just under her ribs. It stretched between them like a ribbon, tying them together. The class stared at Rebecca, small and thin, with the whitest hair imaginable. Long hair. With Mrs. Resnick’s arm around her fragile shoulders, Rebecca shivered, looking at her black leather shoes.
Continue reading… "Close Range"
Mrs. Sharply owned a bicycle but not a car. This was not unusual in a college town like Boulder, but Mrs. Sharply was. You don’t see much of old people in Boulder, you tend to see the young and beautiful. Her true age was a secret, but people said it was well over eighty.
Continue reading… "Balm of Gilead"