What it feels like to shiver

Last night as I drove home from my writing class, there was a gentle, lackadaisical snow falling in Denver. The restaurant and microbrewery patios were empty. The homeless had taken shelter somewhere - at least I hope they did - as the temperature dropped. Less people roamed the sidewalks. It was quiet, in that beautiful … Continue reading What it feels like to shiver

Literary mea culpas, literary prayers

In my writing class, there's a certain format to things. We read a bit of this, then reflect. Read another passage, discuss. A literary liturgy of sorts. There's something about this class that reminds me of Catholic masses, only without the standing and kneeling. (Though, I would say, our literary docent probably wouldn't mind if … Continue reading Literary mea culpas, literary prayers

In the coffeehouse

Killing time before my writing class, perhaps waiting for something in the way one waits for Godot. A blue-haired girl with large, round rimmed glasses is to my left, Misfits sticker prominently placed on her laptop, studying for what I think is a chemistry exam with a raven-haired girl with thick-rimmed black glasses. To my … Continue reading In the coffeehouse