Category: Six Sentence Story
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0701: A Six Sentence Story
Clinging to Small Solid Facts in Six Sentences We talk about Venezuela, as if naming it might steady the water, and I drift in the jacuzzi like a bubble, briefly convinced of my own shape. I mention that Einstein had flat feet — facts don’t ask questions because saying something solid feels like ballast against…
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05.01: A Liturgy for a Bubble
A Liturgy for the Bubble in a Current Once upon a time We gathered at water’s edge,in a jacuzzi between the spokenand the dissolved. We knew when a metaphor was not a metaphor,but a bubble wearing a skin of air, and we spoke to the Brief Republic,the Spinning Borders,the diamond thinning to memory.We called it…
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30.12: Six Sentence Story
It Sings at Night At dusk, on the edge of a pond bordered by palms and deciduous trees that have forgotten how to lose their leaves, a call rises only at night that sounds like a woodpecker at work. There are, however, no woodpeckers in the forest of Anapoima, Colombia. This is a goatsucker; a…
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25 December: After the Funeral
A Six Sentence Story After the Funeral After the funeral, after everyone returned to their version of living, we covered the mirrors with black cloth, draped like shawls, like leftover fabric scraps, anything to keep the glass from looking back at us. Sometimes a corner would slip loose, and the mirror would peek through —…
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17.12: Six Sentence Story
Note to my readers: I’m travelling for the next few weeks in Colombia. I’ll be reading with gratitude, even if I can’t reply properly immediately. El Mohán: the Colombian River Spirit Time braids itself into the mist and murmur of the Río Magdalena, where women wash laundry in silence and speak of El Mohán only…
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16 Dec: Riverbraid – The Liturgy
The Liturgy for Riverbraid (the water that listens) I. The Carrier of TimeNot emerald. Not jade.But river-green — dark as silt and shadow.It carries storieswithout speaking them aloud,shifting with the light:like memory surfacing,then sinking again. Riverbraid does not rushto reveal itself. II. Of Discipline and AttentionThis is not passive watching —it is presence without interference.…
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11.12: Driftthaw – The Liturgy
The Liturgy for Driftthaw— The Unhurried Awakening I. Of LukewarmIt arrives not as storm, nor sun,but as a space-heater’s hum against a cold wall,a pigeon bathing in December rain as if it were holy water,a mind fogged by sameness,a heart pacing in a room too small for its dreams.Driftthaw is the colour of a spiritbeginning…
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9.12: Six Sentence Story
Hols with an O Not a U Brigid sits near the electric space heater — warmth feeling like salvation as it chases the damp chill off the floorboards. And there’s a pigeon in the birdbath: it lifts its left wing into the gauzy rain (sheets of it falling, half-translucent), splashing about as if the rain…
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2.12: Six Sentence Story
At the Intersection of Odd Numbers Bon Appétit — The Pepperbright Canticle The bell above the door startles itself into a shriek of fingernails on a chalkboard as a woman, trailed by a rosy-nosed child in a cat-eared hat, ignores the door slamming shut behind her and asks, “What do you have for a dinner…
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1 Dec: The Liturgy of Pepperbright Canticle
Liturgy for Pepperbright Canticle (reading time: 1 minute) I. The Nature of the SparkPepperbright Canticle arrives as a glint.Vivid. Gold-green.Like sunlight striking a brass bowlof crushed herbs. It tastes of citrus heat, wild laughter,and something faintly medicinalthat refuses to apologise.It does not ask permission.It simply is:truth slipping out sideways,a confession madewith a mouth full of…
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