It’s been a post-apocalyptic winter around here,the sun smothered by ash-gray rags sodden with snow,the snow wrung out on our heads by the bony handsof Arctic winds. Some ancient ice god wants us dead,judging by the icy daggers he hangs around our houses.At night, he presses his face against the black windowsand claws at our…
This week, I walked into our local Kwik Trip convenience store without slipping on a mask for the first time in more than a year. It was a little anticlimactic, given how long we’ve waited for this day to come—everyone else in the store, similarly unmasked, went around buying bananas and milk and eggs and…
Here’s a short story I wrote in the spring of 2020 about the editor of a small-town newspaper whose recent cancer diagnosis causes him to re-think his definition of “news.” Someday, I hope to write a longer work about Jeremiah and the staff of The Weekly Whisperer. In the meantime, enjoy! Jerry Jeremiah Madison Peach…
You know the old saw about disaster being opportunity in disguise? When my Windhovering portfolio website went down a few months ago, it felt like a disaster…I am diligent about keeping backups, but in this case, the backup was unrecoverable. It’s a long, tedious, and uninteresting story, so I’ll spare you the details. But over…
Every spring, I have great ambitions for the eighth of an acre of sand, weeds, rabbits, and squirrels that is our backyard. So far, though, this spring has been a real bummer as far as gardening goes…a real “black thumb spring,” as I’ve come to call it. The rabbits got under my floating row covers…
A poem, with a side of basil. If it’s miracles you’re after,then in the darkest days of Decemberpurchase packets of tomato seedsand hold them close, like holy cards,and recite the litany of their namesas a stay against winter’s cruel claws:Brandywine, Oxheart, Black Krim, Rosella;Honey Gold, Pink Girl, Moon Glow, Tigerella;Chianti Rose, Sunrise, Orange Jazz, Tangella….
So, if you would be a Saint,by which I mean that S-Tstands stoutly before your name;and miracles multiplylike dandelions springingwild from your incorrupt heart;and your wise eyes stare star-likefrom icons, your head haloedon silver platters of paint;and we remember your death-day with feasts, and bells ringing;if you would be, in short, thou:— then pray, do…
As a stay at home dad, I figure I’ve changed maybe 11,000 diapers. That’s an estimate: three diapers a day for two years per kid times five kids, if you want to know the math. This is not something I really ever aspired to; I mean, who does? No one says to their high school career counselor, “Yeah, one of my life goals…
Maybe our touchstone now should be G. M. Hopkins, who made up his “own” set of formal constraints and then blew everyone’s footwear off from inside them. — David Foster Wallace,in The Review of Contemporary Fiction, summer 1993 I named this website Windhovering after the poem by the nineteenth century Jesuit poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins….
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