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It Was Not Me, said Tima
It was not me. This is not my MO, said Tima. Miss C, if that had been me, I would have dragged the whole bag out. I would never have made one little hole and a big mess like that! I think it was a mouse, she said. You know the mouse I mean, she…
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When Celi first comes to Illinois
Yes I am in Illinois now. But I was here before. Substack Weekend Podcast. (a little late): From the beach in New Zealand to the Plains of Illinois. Jude sleeping. So short and so sweet. This video is short because as I left the camera running in the barn I realized I had not turned…
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Bright White Waxing Gibbous
I had trouble coming inside last night. The moon, though only at half strength, was washing the land in silver. And it was the perfect temperature for a walk. It was dusk when we started off but soon the fake lights were shining on the horizon, competing with the stars. We finished by walking back…
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The only way to Start is to Begin.
My writing is not going too well. There are too many changes of location in my day. But I keep restarting. And I keep beginning. Writing needs a rhythm and short stories written for a podcast are all about the words a writer does not use, so first I need to get all the words…
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Lowering the Light
The season is slowly lowering her light. Casting her shadows longer and further. Autumnal shades of gold are creeping in around the edges: Today I start editing the text for this week’s podcast on SubStack. Podcast on Sunday. Farm Sounds on Wednesday. So the words here will be fewer today as this week’s story is…
The Kitchen's Garden 