16 July 2018: The shiny-headed men waiting at the repair shop on 7th, living their retired life in Montana, still come in exclaiming things like “Oh, it’s Monday again ain’t it.” I come in bright and early before work for a quick oil change to sit in the waiting area and eat the free donuts … Continue reading The Repair Shop on 7th →

9 July 2018: I’ve finally gotten around to reading Robert Bly, like an easterner who finally travels west to see the Grand Canyon or marvel at the other ocean. That is how it feels, arriving late to the party. For me, James Wright, William Stafford, even Ted Kooser, they have been like the easterner’s D.C. … Continue reading I’ve Finally Gotten Around to Reading Robert Bly →

2 July 2018: Now we have July—the thinnest blue above the mountains and all the mountains still shining green. We have firework stands on the town’s outskirts and freshly mowed lawns. This far north, just past the summer solstice, we have 5:00 a.m. sunrises and a night that doesn’t relieve the sun, truly, till after … Continue reading The Madness, Rack, and Honey of It →

18 June 2018: Before I read another Bob Dylan book, I’d like to say a few words here. I’d like to hand over a conversation. A diálogo ficticio. Something about Dylan, me, and the imagined. Here it is. Don't take it for anything more than what it's worth.   "Ain’t nobody like him, I’ll say … Continue reading Before I Read Another Bob Dylan Book: A Dialogue →

11 June 2018: I had better tell you where I am, and why. That’s how Joan Didion begins her essay “In the Islands.” And I realize I could tell you where I am. It would be simple. Take such and such road. Turn here. At the gas station, turn left. Follow that road west for … Continue reading Such and Such Road →

4 June 2018: It feels like summer this morning. All sun, all green, all blue. Even the blurs of town buses passing by seem to shine with all the light of June. I can hardly believe it. June. I say the word, I write the word, and immediately look out the window. The old silver … Continue reading June or the Raven or How the Sun Split the Morning Shade in Half →

28 May 2018: At the old folks’ home next door, a line of potted flowers decorates the windows, and, sometimes, drawing back the blinds, an old cowboy, Stetson-hatted and smiling, gazes out and waves. I walk the periphery of his world, imagining the long crawling past he could call up from eighty years of recollection. Always, … Continue reading Walking by the Senior Center, Somewhere Between Spring and Summer →

21 May 2018: I wonder if you’re still around, like your book says. It’s been six years since it was published—three since I read it. The latest resources tell me you’re not around this valley anymore. They say maybe Illinois, some Franciscan University I’ll never see. But when were you here? Or were you? And … Continue reading Letter to Amy Leach from Bozeman →

14 May 2018: I wonder what the kids on the school bus think of me as they pass, as they crawl across Willson Avenue (yes, that's how it's spelled) east towards the sun, as another day begins. I wonder if they wonder about their future, staring at this simple man, his hair too long, late … Continue reading I Wonder What the Kids on the School Bus Think of Me as They Pass →

7 May 2018: Six years ago, I lived alone in a garage apartment in Oklahoma City. A one-bedroom, a few hundred square feet, my apartment hid behind the big, green-shuttered house of my landlords—blocks away from Oklahoma City University. I walked a lot, read too much Edward Abbey, sat on the back patio with spiked … Continue reading Along the Way →