As the sun sets behind this stretch of the Pacific Coast Ranges, a mountain chain that stretches from Alaska to central Mexico, I not only wonder,

but marvel at Continue reading
As the sun sets behind this stretch of the Pacific Coast Ranges, a mountain chain that stretches from Alaska to central Mexico, I not only wonder,

but marvel at Continue reading
The ageing comedian, known the world over for his slapstick parodies, brushed past me in the pre-dawn chill to take his place in the crowd queuing up to board the British Airways flight from Edinburgh to London. I have packing my warm jacket in my checked luggage to thank for our chance encounter. Had I not hung back to keep warm in the stairwell, I’d have totally overlooked him.
As it was, before I could react beyond the chuckle that stretched my lips straight and crinkled the corners of my eyes, the bobbing head, tucked under his signature pork pie hat, disappeared into the forward motion of the crowd. Continue reading
Highland sheep dotted the roadside under the pre-dawn sky. The velvet canopy looked like flocks of faeries had tossed fistfuls of glitter at the new moon only to have it stashed inside the Big Dipper and then purposefully strewn across the Milky Way by their extraterrestrial counterparts so that this tiny group of earthlings might stand in awe of the universe’s expansive beauty from the gravel car park at the foot of Beinn Hiant, Scotland’s Magic Mountain*, the highest hill on the Ardnamurchan peninsula.
The bulky behemoth’s size was clear from the patch of twinkling stars that it blocked from sight. The mountain is touted as being an easily manageable ascent in the tourist guides, but for the out-of-shape slug I’d recently become, I viewed watching the sunrise with my retreat companions after a seventeen-hundred-foot hillwalk more like an expedition up Everest. Continue reading
Once the morning sun broke through the clouds, the grey mist pulled back from Glenborrodale’s ragged shoreline’s nooks and crannies. It rose from the loch like a gossamer shade tugged from the edge of a wooded windowsill revealing a beauty distinct to the Scottish Highlands.
The atmosphere immediately hugs you in a warm tartan of peace and tranquility, lore and legend. It begs you to use words like fancy, toadstool, and porridge.
With a fortnight to go until Halloween Continue reading
Ichiro snores. The fog horn blows. My feet are cold and the fragrance of lilies on the kitchen counter drifts into the living room where I stare at the precarious position of my teacup on the edge of the coffee table while pondering this run on sentence the here and now.
Well, maybe not so much the here (sitting on a chair, in my living room, in my house, in California, on the continent of North America, on the planet Earth), as the now: this minute, this second, Continue reading

There’s something surreal about spotting a row of paw prints the size of cast-iron skillets stamped in the snow thirty feet from where you’ve been sleeping. Continue reading
Mourning in the morning
is more difficult than at night
since
your ghost is visible in the daylight,
said the woman, hands folded, as if reciting a prayer,
to the aide
sliding a comb
through her once shiny,
thick hair.
You know you can’t hide inside that disguise!
She tugs his white coat, ’til he’s level with her eyes. Continue reading
Car horns honk. Motorbikes beep. Tuk-tuks toot. The wave of sound winds down as the steel herd halts for a red signal, then builds again when the traffic light turns green and the swarm surges forward.
The pack pushes through the streets of Delhi as if it was performing an abstract dance – one that’s been choreographed and long rehearsed, given the ordered chaos it presents.
The moment one bike creeps up and veers off, another seamlessly slips into its space. When oncoming traffic Continue reading
Potty talk took on a new meaning for me today when I stopped to wash my hands in the ladies room before lunch. I had just pumped the soap dispenser and turned on the tap when a young voice from inside the stall behind me pierced the silence, “Simon says, ‘Look up!'”
A 10-year-old girl standing at the sink beside me tossed a thick dark braid over the shoulder of her pink tweety-bird t-shirt. “That’s my cousin visiting from America. She loves playing that game, especially when we go to restaurants and everyone at the table is looking down at their phones.”
After a shared laugh and introduction, Meera told me in great detail how Maya had just gotten sick for the fifth time since their arrival in Agra last night. I’ll spare you the colorful details since her story was interrupted when the door flew open and another petite pink clad 10-year-old with a smile like a crescent moon and sparking green eyes rimmed in sky blue flecked with mischief stomped beside her cousin and exclaimed, “Ahhhh – that feels so much better. Now I’m ready to go see the Taj!”
“You’d better Continue reading
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