Paul Christensen: Where Summer Ends
My village lies there in all its stony composure under the first thunderstorm of fall. It meant cold weather was coming, creeping in like a procession of ghosts under the rumbling sky.
Paul Christensen: Messages from the Invisible
I am an outsider and always will be no matter how long I come and spend my summers here. I don’t mind; I like my existence framed this way, with enough sunlight to comfort my skin and aging body, and my ears thirsting to hear French laughter, and French whispers below my window.
Paul Christensen: A Velvet Gloom Before It Rains
The rain isolates you the way not even silence can.
Rachel Hadas: What do the classics teach us about hope?
How do we weather this welter of bad news? How do we adapt?
Paul Christensen: The Changing Air of Nights
Night is a palace of memories, with the beams lashed to the roof and corded with fragments of childhood, vanished links of how we grew up, and faint traces of our mother caressing our hair and sending us up to bed after a rambling story about ghosts and goblins.
Video: Astronaut Leland Melvin Reads Pablo Neruda’s Love Letter to Earth’s Forests
Anyone who hasn’t been in the Chilean forest doesn’t know this planet. I have come out of that landscape, that mud, that silence, to roam, to go singing through the world.
Video: What it’s like to have Tourette’s — and how music gives me back control
Listen along as Alwani explores the power of music and delights the audience with an ethereal performance of her piano ballad.
Paul Christensen: Late Summer
Time holds everything in its ghostly hands, like someone touching the hot wine glasses on a merchant’s table.