We were taking in the views Tuesday morning, glad for moisture in the midst of drought. The first bird I saw was a Townsend solitaire perched on a fence post. Cabezon was clear to the west. Maybe unwisely, I decided to check my email. The first message was a little more odd than the regular …
Nothing else. Just Saturday morning.
I knew I was having anxiety problems when dawn reminded me of “The Scream.” Sleep has been a battle lately, more of a jerky series of bad-ending dreams. I know it is mostly the news — Trump and coronavirus — especially too late in the day, but I haven’t been able to shake the worries …
This ship of state — this self-obsessed, rusting hulk of retired newspaperman — steadied the moment I felt the stillness of the coming autumn air. No pain this morning, only a sense of the gentle season ahead. I put out fresh water for scrub jays, finches, titmouses and Texas antelope squirrels, grateful that the rattlesnakes …
People I used to work with will get a kick out of this: I dreamed I lost my voice in the newsroom. Mid-sentence. Looking down a row of desks at younger reporters and editors before my retirement, questioning without being asked a crowd-count methodology at a political event. Despite some darting of the eyes, they …
Making a surprised leap halfway to the indoor plumbing in the pre-dawn darkness of 2018 was not the thoughtful way I planned to begin the new year. Who knew that Cowboy’s new Christmas squeaky toy — thanks to his 15-year-old friend, Sophia — lay in wait? Who could see that buck-toothed squirrel, or beaver, or …
dream ranch 