Essays + Reflections

Writing through the pandemic
This past Covid year I’ve discovered the things that kept me sane and hopeful also kept me writing.

Blossom to blossom
Last year, I watched my father pick the remaining blossoms from his apple tree. Some promised fruit, others did not. “You need two trees to cross-pollinate,” he explained. “It’s difficult with one tree.”

Panning for glints of the living past
Beneath the desk at which I work at home sit six worn-looking archive boxes.