PAUL CHRISTENSEN

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    THE AMERICAN MUSE

    THE AMERICAN MUSE

    The Past without History

    The Past without History

    Spring Will Be a Little Late This Year

    Spring Will Be a Little Late This Year

    Disunited States

    Disunited States

    Some Things Never Change

    Some Things Never Change

    ON WHITENESS

    ON WHITENESS

    A MEMORY

    A MEMORY

    PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST: JAMES DICKEY

    PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST: JAMES DICKEY

    SHOW ME THE AUDIENCE

    SHOW ME THE AUDIENCE

    THE AMERICAN MUSE

    THE AMERICAN MUSE

    The Past without History

    The Past without History

    Spring Will Be a Little Late This Year

    Spring Will Be a Little Late This Year

    Disunited States

    Disunited States

    Some Things Never Change

    Some Things Never Change

    ON WHITENESS

    ON WHITENESS

    A MEMORY

    A MEMORY

    PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST: JAMES DICKEY

    PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST: JAMES DICKEY

    SHOW ME THE AUDIENCE

    SHOW ME THE AUDIENCE

    BACK HOME AGAIN

    BACK HOME AGAIN

    It will rain all day today here in Halloween-colored Vermont. The maples will lose many of their remaining leaves and look off with stoic expressions at being naked again. The fields are already black and sodden from earlier rains. The road is jeweled with tiny puddles and elaborate silvery veins. We are easing ourselves into the cold weather, and it makes the house tick like a clock. Overhead, the sky is a chaos of quilt folds and rumpled sheets. My worn out cardigan has spr
    WHAT ISOLATION TEACHES US

    WHAT ISOLATION TEACHES US

    The magpies have all packed up and left with the last straggling tourists. I don't hear their falsetto cries anymore, and I miss them. I love to see two such tuxedoed birds on a branch over the road chattering away like prom dates before the music starts. They're gone and they have left behind the empty branches of gnarled oak trees. The wind rattles the last few leaves on their limbs and the long shadows devour the crumbs of last summer's hopes. You feel the black silk of th
    A CUP OF LIGHT

    A CUP OF LIGHT

    Such sudden cool weather has me rushing to the car to get some free heat from the sun. The house is cold, the stones are numb with last night's frost; the birds have fallen silent like children after being scolded. You get the feeling that nothing is soft or pliable anymore. It's all a construction of jagged limestone and splintered wood, and the occasional reassurance of wood smoke dribbling out of chimneys. I sit in the car waiting for the desire to start it up and head for
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    RETURN TO FRANCE

    RETURN TO FRANCE

    READING THE HEADLINES

    READING THE HEADLINES

    TO STOP THE CLOCK

    TO STOP THE CLOCK

    THE RAIN STORM

    THE RAIN STORM

    JASMINE BLOSSOMS

    JASMINE BLOSSOMS

    EARTH HOUSEHOLD

    EARTH HOUSEHOLD

    SPRING HAS NOT YET SPRUNG

    SPRING HAS NOT YET SPRUNG

    The Hinge of Summer's Door

    The Hinge of Summer's Door

    The Snow It Snoweth Every Day

    The Snow It Snoweth Every Day

    WINTER ON ARTHRITIC KNEES

    WINTER ON ARTHRITIC KNEES

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    © 2014 by Paul Christensen