Tag Archives: love

Confusion

Posted on April 28, 2011 by heath quinn

Cr — t and cr — t both have wickets. One’s boring, the other’s chess on the run. Croquet’s wickets I confused with cricket’s, as a kid, so gave cricket a miss for too long. Love it now, though I … Continue reading →

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While you sleep

Posted on August 18, 2009 by heath quinn

While you sleep, cicada songs rise and fall, a crow flies in from north-northeast, calling as it goes, redwood’s sweetness kisses the air, a harbor breeze brings drinks of bruised roses and salt, and eddies of leaves and white butterflies … Continue reading →

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Up in the air

Posted on June 18, 2009 by heath quinn

I just read a piece about perception, compassion, thoughtfulness, and a broad understanding built, over time, through local experience. It has some of the most piquant writing I’ve ever read. Almost every sentence contains a reversal that’s beautifully constructed and … Continue reading →

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Why they did what they did

Posted on May 21, 2009 by heath quinn

There they were, all in a row, crowding the wires strung high over the street, balanced over tight-gripping claws, looking something like small crows. But they were sparrows. They spoke to each other frequently, calling out over this wing or … Continue reading →

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Spelling your name, 3 drafts

Posted on May 4, 2009 by heath quinn

Last night I fell asleep under only a sheet. There was a chill rain all night, and my windows were open. Later I woke from the cold. My right hand was tracing the name of the man I love in … Continue reading →

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Collecting bowls and such

Posted on April 25, 2009 by heath quinn

While meditating the other day, these visions flowed in: Carved jade bowls, the stony sides of mountains reflecting sunshine, translucent stone, the translucency of celadon-glazed Chinese porcelain, and the colors of thin sheets of jade and rust against light, over … Continue reading →

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Callery pears

Posted on April 21, 2009 by heath quinn

Callery pears, their white lace and cream like Watteau; the etchiness of oaks in bud, scribbled high. Reach for the sky, the sap’s up! As sweet and raw as a wood fire am I, and sad as the sea. What … Continue reading →

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Frederick Seidel, poetry, love

Posted on April 14, 2009 by heath quinn

On the weekend, I read an article in the NYTimes about Frederick Seidel, whom I’d never heard of. He reads six of his own poems in a multimedia piece attached to the article. His six readings, which last less than … Continue reading →

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Card models

Posted on April 5, 2009 by heath quinn

This pic of Chateau de Belcayre on the France’s Vezere River is the first in a slideshow from a travel article about canoeing in the lovely Dordogne Valley region of France by Christopher Shaw*, in today’s NYTimes.com (click on the … Continue reading →

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Spring appetite

Posted on April 3, 2009 by heath quinn

Spring appetite: I want some toasted almonds (a must in April!), a red pear, and some toast, and to walk on the beach in bare feet, even if it’s clammy and cold outside, and a hug from a particular someone … Continue reading →

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Why I love newspapers

Posted on March 3, 2009 by heath quinn

Or is it newscreens, newswebs or newsnets? I haven’t bought a paper paper in more than a year. One of my fav’s, TOI, isn’t available at my local newsstand. What’s the newsstand guy going to do when we’re all reading … Continue reading →

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The Amateur

Posted on February 13, 2009 by heath quinn

Calling someone an amateur is a common insult in the USA. But did you know that amateur comes from the French word for lover? An amateur is someone motivated to devote himself to something for the pure love if it. … Continue reading →

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Intentions

Posted on October 31, 2006 by heath quinn

Stepping from a cab onto a rainy street in New York City where I live I’m splashed by cabs that pass at speed forcing force sheets of dirty water up and over enemies on foot, like me. Like that, the … Continue reading →

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