Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from September, 2017

Featured

Pushkin's wind

As Pushkin wrote, Like an infant wailing low. That is how the wind whips around the houses. Trees bend wildly, like giants losing their balance. 
We were on the playground when the first drops splashed on the seesaws. "Maybe we should go home." I say half-to myself but N agrees. I hoist V to my shoulders, one of her favorite things in life. With her arms grasping at the empty branches over our heads, she sings a made-up song. And then the wind comes and we are all running. I bring V down, burying her face in my jacket. She shouts at the weather, as if her demands will slow it down. The rain comes hard and the streets are dancing with little rivers in less than a minute. The windows above us in the new houses are rattling like ghosts are inside them. Inside the front door, soaked and out of breath we hear the howl as it trickles through the cracks in the windows. 
The next day, I see an entire tree uprooted, its roots as big as its trunk.

a peaceful protest

the immigrant and the exile

an anniversary

the man on the ladder

best personal blogs
best personal blogs