I am not a poet, but a friend has inspired me to read more of it and think more critically about its place in the constellation of my creative pursuits. Occasionally, I’d like to post a poem here when inspiration strikes. boundarydemarcated by strict panels of hewn lumberset against remnant forest clinging to a river edgeandtraced between the treesa pathserpentine cut through snow-covered scrubbracing a tizzy of birdsongagainst a distant whir of highway trafficmuffled by branches reaching for sunlightbare in the january chilland traced between the treesfootprintspacking a temporary record into the snowrecalling a moment or a hundred like itinspired to ignore one moreboundary -bardo

Travel Tuesday, and I’m sitting here (just like a good chunk of the world) locked down in my basement during a global pandemic. We (fortunately) banked partial refunds and credit for two sets of flights from twenty-twenty COVID cancellations. This means that last year we didn’t get to go any further than we could drive in an afternoon. It also means that sometime in the future I’ll need to book not just a trip, but a TRIP. The Trip. The Trip to Celebrate the End of the Pandemic Trip. TM The first time of anything after a long stretch without can be nothing… or it can be everything. For example, I sometimes give up coffee for a couple months (system…

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Do you remember the first time you got the perfect sear? I do. We had come into a couple thousand dollars as a small inheritance. The decision had been made years prior that any windfalls like that would be rolled back into our house. It was simple: money from a family legacy transformed into value to our home. Our choice then was to extend the gas line to our kitchen and replace the electric stove with a gas range. We had been living the post-university student lifestyle for years at that point, but had been watching too much Food Network. The cheap aluminum frying pans were not cutting it anymore. They needed to be replaced, and I couldn’t help but…

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Sunday. Run Day. It’s lonely out there on the trails these days. I laced up and logged a quick eight klick run through the locals this morning. The snowy paths were worn down with thousands of footprints. The crisp air was calm but dry. Stragglers from another universe were out walking their dogs. For the last decade I have run almost every Sunday morning. For the last year, company on those runs has been sporadic or limited at best. The pandemic gave us a summer of cautious gatherings. This was followed by an autumn of wary runners. In turn, that was followed by a strict lockdown with little tolerance for mixed company. So I run alone lately. Others bend the…

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