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The City and the Flower
I arrived in Buenos Aires 32 years ago this week. Then, as now, it was the run up to Spring. The cool air of Winter was cut by warm shoots of light that made walking her streets like pushing through the folds of night and day. Flower sellers hawked little bouquets of waxy-petaled jasmine from…
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Refuge in Other People’s Homes
On a street in the neighborhood the other day, a car appeared without wheels, without engine, without windows, without seats. A mere car carcass. Someone had bothered to cart it there but its utility – beyond wishful thinking – was hard to see. You had to be really desperate or really imaginative to find beauty…
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Flying on a Broken Wing
She was a beautiful child born the day the river Shannon overflowed A body of water that could not be contained was her name Her beauty like Venus was more poignant for a missing wing […]
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Skipping Beneath the Night Sky
She skips down the alley willy-nilly, dodging potholes and puddles. Her footsteps echo between the concrete walls and rolling metal security shutters. In the circle of light cast by a streetlamp, she leaps suddenly into the air and twirls, arms joyously flailing. Her chin is raised up and she smiles to the Gods who are…
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Dos Negronis at La Biela
I don’t usually leave bars dancing in the streets. But then again, these are not usual times […]
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Nurture
I consider my troubled relationship with plants a blemish on my character. To me, it is a tell-tale sign that something is askew, that I am too focused on something beyond me. Like meditation, plant husbandry eludes me […]