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PAUL CHRISTENSEN
WHERE SUMMER ENDS
My village lies there in all its stony composure under the first thunderstorm of fall. It meant cold weather was coming, creeping in like...
MESSAGES FROM THE INVISIBLE
It's chilly now. A big rain fell morosely out of the wrinkles of darkness. The streets sobbed with relief, and the footsteps so often...
A VELVET GLOOM BEFORE IT RAINS
The sky is overcast this mid-day. It reminds me of the times when my father came into my bedroom and tossed the covers off, saying...
THE CHANGING AIR OF NIGHT
Cool nights. Great for sleeping. Lovely to roll around and push one's foot down into the autumnal depths of the sheet and lie there,...
LATE SUMMER
It was hot yesterday, so hot the sun stung my forearms as I walked along at the antique market in Bonnieux, a village hanging on the side...
BACK IN FRANCE
Back in France after two long, pandemic-bound years at home, in Vermont. I spent most of my time reading, listening to the house brace...
THE PANDEMIC BLUES
Everyone around here is sluggish. The young woman who checks my purchases off the conveyor belt dabs her eyes and stifles a yawn. She...
My Mazda and I
I'm getting in the car and cranking the motor. It's always suspenseful whether the engine will turn over and purr or produce some anemic...
Summer's First Visitors
It's summer and the gods are playing tug of war with the wind and the sun. Some days are dead-weighted with humid air that clings to our...
EARLY DOG DAYS IN VERMONT
The Dog Days came early. Usually, August is the boiling month under the star Sirius, a ferocious mascot of hellfire and incineration. But...
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