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Eighteen years ago, my late husband and I bought a century-old brick industrial shop building along with its half a block of weedy, junk-strewn abandoned property. Our friends thought we were crazy. But we were in love, Richard with the decaying shop—which he could see as his studio, and the rare land in town where ... Read More »
Allegory lurks in abandoned factories. It prowls about the rooms where hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people wore the floors down to a leathery patina. It seeps into the mortar decaying between bricks. A factory gone dark is a shadow of our consumer selves. We want what we want, whatever the price of our longings—lost jobs, ... Read More »
I know it’s nearing sunset because the crows begin to fly east.
On the West Coast, the light is not always a reliable indicator of the end of day. Sometimes it stabs through everything, silver and sharp—surgical. At other times, it softens blue to indigo. Many evenings, the marine layer spills over the point, submerging San Diegans ... Read More »
I am here. Right. Here.
Shortly before midnight, a great horned owl announces its presence at the corner of Carl and Arguello Streets. Perched atop my apartment building, ten feet above the bed in which I lay sleepless, the bird punctuates the quiet night with its territorial proclamations.
I am here. Right. Here.
I close my eyes and ... Read More »
The Two-spotted Ladybug (Adalia bipunctata) is characteristically named. Most specimens have a black spot on each of their glossy red elytra, the modified beetle wings that act as protective covers for their delicate inner wings. A smaller proportion of the species are melanistic variations, black-bodied with red spots and rectangles. That makes them look quite ... Read More »
“Whether one goes to nature for truth, or for beauty, for knowledge or for relaxation, these things can be found in a yard in the city as well as a tropical jungle, for they exist in the common, simple, everyday things all about us, as well as the rare and exotic.”
~ ... Read More »
Death keeps finding a way to my backyard.
Most recently, it was the bunny. The kids—my daughter and three neighbor friends—found him on the sidewalk after an encounter with a feral cat. He seemed hale and hearty except for the blood dripping from his engorged left eye. We fashioned a laundry basket and large sheet of ... Read More »
One morning recently I found myself crying while reading William Faulkner’s “The Bear.” It was a Saturday and I’d woken earlier than usual, just after five, and my brain was too busy to return to sleep. I’d read the earlier stories in Go Down, Moses during the week and had been planning to give some ... Read More »
The writer Charles Bowden died last year. In the final twenty years of his life—a period in which he wrote primarily on the horrors of the drug business in the southwest borderlands—he produced a trilogy of books, the last of which, Some of the Dead Are Still Breathing, is maybe the clearest distillation of his ... Read More »
Last September, at the tail end of a long summer, I had the opportunity to take part in a guided visit to the Oostvaardersplassen, a 6,000-hectare nature reserve to the east of Amsterdam. What made this opportunity unique is that nature is largely left to its own devices at the Oostvaardersplassen. Although the area is ... Read More »