Some time ago, my partner and I spent much time back in the country of her ancestors: Italy. As we combed through records and bounced around government offices and communal cemeteries, I had an epiphany of sorts. I sat down and wrote them out. I do wonder if Anna’s ancestors would ever have imagined that … More Momento Mori
I worked with two men in construction for a while. As it usually goes with these types of rough men, their transformation into builders has a reason. I generally try to find that. Little clues into their life are splattered here and there. It just takes the right key, and the lock springs open. This … More The Gift of Normalcy
When I was just a boy, my father, my uncle and I would practice subsistence moose hunting. It is the act of hunting to eat, rather than to collect a trophy; which is an unforgivable act. We’d take ATVs far into the mountains, dozens of miles away from any roads, which were hundreds of miles … More Colosseums of Time
The cat rests on my lap. A glass of bourbon I received for my birthday sits on the table to my right. She comes in from work. She looks harried, and tired. This month has been a tough one for her. Fall always is. She lets her purse fall to the floor and says “I’ve … More A Place I Will Always Know
The second video from our trip to Europe.
As we drive down the road to our next destination she stares out the window. The sun shines down on her hair and makes it glow. It’s normally brown, but when she’s in the sun for very long it highlights. The sun uses her as a tapestry to paint its own beauty. She becomes a … More A Tapestry, Painted
A homage to Lieutenant Henry and Miss Barkley, but mostly to you. It’s fall. She said that to me while the leaves fell onto our cars. The maple ones were beautiful red, orange and yellow. Everything else just was. “It’s cold here.” “It’s always cold here.” She didn’t say much and I held her hand … More Fall
There’s a scar in Ireland. It’s short, tiny, but very deep, and barely healing. The people use it to segregate themselves. British supporting “Unionists” on one side, Ireland Republic supporting “Nationalists” on the other. In all honesty, there are hundreds of these scars; they cut in and out of neighborhoods. Some have nothing but tall … More A Scar Called Peace
The German drinks many beers. More than I can. He sits in a booth and I sit in another. He is surrounded by fat Americans. They tell him things about American politics and he listens patiently, with a look in his eyes. He is not here. He is still snowmobiling. But the Americans do not … More A Short Trip
The air is still and wet. The humidity causes my father’s bones to hurt. He stretches after he climbs out of the little tent. It’s just above freezing and frost covers the ground. My little brother lies in his sleeping bag, sleeping soundly. The cold doesn’t bother him. I’ve been awake off and on … More Summer’s Beast
Storied By Josh 