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Lacrimosa and the Butterflies


Dear Friends, Sun-glazed days are filled with the weight of time in Jamaica. Shortly after arriving from Brazil, a close friend’s father — Uncle Clyde — died. Thus, those who knew and loved him gathered almost nightly, to reminisce, commemorate, break bread…

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Open Your Hands and Look


Do you see what I see: white fluff floating off trees like light snow; an army of ants finding their way; blue-green aquamarine ocean approaching and retreating; a toddler losing himself in an ice-cream cone; bronzed tingling flesh stretching and…

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Directions To and In the Garden


If you journey to the top of the hill, you’ll find a curtain of trees. Thick, dark leaves, yards appearing impenetrable. Stop there. Be patient. When the wind sweeps the green aside, you’ll find a gate. Rap on it three times, the…

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Movements of Silence


In front of Pastelaria Pau de Canela, a boy, in a tie-dye shirt, runs past the pigeons causing them to flutter, surge and fall. They move as one. The boy’s not running to anything or from anything; he’s not racing…

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Berlin: “Let Winter Impress You”


Dear Friends, There are children, in the courtyard, playing under a slate sheet of sky. They’re shouting, who knows what, and if I were eight or nine, though it’s almost freezing, I’d join them in their game of tag. Perhaps, their…

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Nothing is Permanent


“There was a man who had two sons.  The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them. “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had,…