The Gym Where I Belong

The gloved fist flies toward my face. I’ve been caught with my right hand down again, and I know it. So does my attacker; out of courtesy, he slows the speed of the oncoming punch, planting the glove firmly, yet without malice, against the side of my face. I can feel...

Drawing in Shadows

There’s a particular golden tone to Georgian sunlight that I’ve never found anywhere else.  Late afternoon on a cloudless day, the western sky lit with a metallic shimmer that clung, along with the pollen and dust, to cars, houses, and people.  The Midas touch of that...