So what the heck is a spatchcock, anyway?
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Maybe you had a place that always seemed full to the brim with people until early in the morning when only the smell of frying bacon seemed to reside there.
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Next to pine trees a hundred years old, my anxieties felt insignificant and evanescent. In the woods, there is a buzz, like a low humming, but you can only hear it if you’re mentally present and quiet. Like the trees are singing, like divine orators keeping watch over us lesser creatures.
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Sometimes when we lose someone we lose a friend, a connection, and a handful of memories. Other times, though, we lose someone and the ground shifts where we stand.
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Can we talk about creative block?
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