She says her name is Ayelet, the woman in the shop selling the pink scarf, all silky and flowy. The color of happy smiley baby cheeks and morning summer skies. And hope. I enter the   shop on my way home. My first time in a week,  beyond a radius of seven-and-a-half minutes, the time it would take me to run to the miklat. But today I risked it all to dance, walked the forty-five minutes to my favorite neighborhood and down my favorite street with blue and pink doors and purpl

He brings a bag of lemons, the neighbor from next door most times, in a plastic bag with a smile, offers the grapefruit-size lemons to everyone sitting on these chairs, a hodge podge collection of patio chairs, tiny wooden ones from a child’s playroom, with stickers and jewels, pink and red, canvas camping chairs, barstools, always enough, even if there aren’t enough, like last night when the neighbors hosted a Shabbat dinner and their guests came down with glasses of wine an

This has been a hard couple of days for many of us. When I struggle, reach peak-disregulation, I write. And writing isn't always pretty. I don't always write what I would love to read. Or see. I can't always write a bouquet of roses, because in that moment of disregulation I am anything but a bouquet of roses. So, my little hope is that these not so pretty words, though true, might speak to your heart. If not, disregard. I'm all for self-care--honoring and prioritizing your n

Lot   Where a man’s wound is, that is where his genius will be. -Robert Bly   I’m telling my mom about an art exhibition I went to last week. About Lot’s wife and the war and looking back. And she asks if she ever told me her story about Lot’s wife. And I say no and she chuckles and says that she doesn’t know how or when but somehow she got it in her little girl head that Lot’s wife was none other than Lady Liberty, that Bronze Statue in New York, the symbol of America, a gif

She talks about a thread and it’s a teaching I’ve heard before but today. Today it enters my lungs. My fascia. I see the sea to my right, clear sight after days of Sahara dust, by which I mean decades of dust of the mind. Find the thread from the hip to the knee, she says and she’s talking body and I’m thinking life. I’m thinking of this exact moment—8:51am. Monday, February 16, 2026. The day I turn 56, the thread all the threads that have brought me to this moment. Which is

When, between two books, the quieting sky appears, or merely a patch of earth at evening—rejoice… Ranier Maria Rilke     I’m trying to trace it                                 back. There must be a defining event—an event horizon! That moment when it all went awry— balagan. But try as I might with a mind notyetawake there is nothing I can find, no epiphany, awakening, no destination no combination words           make                   it                      worse. I’m with

There's an antique store called "Bardo" near the Carmel Market. It always seems to be closed when I pass but late last week it was open....

"The soul seeks its own society," Emily Dickinson wrote. Which, when I first read as a sixteen-year-old, I interpreted as a kind of...

and I pull out the umbrella I just bought for eight dollars, smaller and uglier than the one for five but looks stronger. I walk to the...

I was never a fan of Tuesday, it’s too in the middle, not— a beginning day like Monday or Sunday, an entire music score waiting to be...

My watch says I have twenty-seven minutes to spare and just then I see a café, which is not such a miracle in New York, every block has...

Time is an illusion. Albert Einstein   She was chopping vegetables she says when the earthquake hit, listening to the podcast I sent her...

She calls her night my morning, finals, senior thesis, friend-stuff. How are you maman? The French she uses when feeling soft, when...

Absence   Maybe, though, it’s not always the stars that matter but the space between them, the lines we draw to shape the absence....

Focus on movement, not               balance, says the teacher as I stand on one foot trying not         to                  try?...

Every morning we have tea, my husband and me, this morning no different. I boil water— Darjeeling for him, decaf chai for me. I fold...

It's been a big week. An overwhelming week. A week when it has been a challenge to find words to name the plethora of emotions and...

It's been a while... I'm thinking about beauty. I'm thinking about art. Keats and "Ode on a Grecian Urn" and Bishop and "One Art". About...

This is the story told in hushed tones. It is the version of the tale they do not want you to know. After all, what is more powerful than...

I have a scar running diagonally across my nose. The reminder of a car accident that killed the other driver and nearly ten-year-old me...