A park I'm walking, daily.
A place for love, for connection, for free play.
For families, for mothers, for babies, for the retired, for singles.
For dog lovers, for bird lovers, for squirrel lovers, for flowers.
For sun bathing, for jogging, for yoga, for panevrithmia.
For what we love.
You're welcome to walk in too.
I take readers to benches — long-form essays where you can sit and stay with a thought. To lakes — pieces where I see my own life on the surface. To hills — vantage points on AI, voice, the path of least resistance. To squirrels — small observations from the walk. And to small communities of writers and thinkers I learn from.
Recent essays
- Two BodiesOn the body the work is asking for, the body the wound has been asking for since childhood, and the slow work of telling them apart when they wear the same skin.
- Walking by RemembranceOn a foggy Bulgarian morning, a teacher who has died, and the questions she handed me before she went.
- The Sites Are GoneOn the spiral of envy, a teacher who vanished a year ago, and the slow writing that is the only thing that cannot be hunted.
- What the Whirl Is ForOn the brainstorm-wave that delays the work, the perfect vision it protects, and the deadlines that, finally, are the holders.
- Becoming the SpotlightOn the contemplative's question, the householder's answer, and the four ways the ego steps aside.