Category: Writing

The tilt of the Earth brings us closer to the sunWe call it the spring in the northern hemisphereMy mom on the porch reads a book to her grandsonWhile we wait with impatience for the governor’s “All clear” My nephew plays with sticks and a dead bug in the dirtHis babbling a welcome redirection from…

Dull in the distance,Charred logs and dim embersWait for our company.It arrives in the evening,As plants and animals Settle down in the chilly night air.Tulips close their blossoms.Hyacinths yawn.As the crocuses fadeInto the twilight,A match ignitesThe carefully constructed log cabinIn the fire pit.Sparkling light replaces sunAs we gather together,Feasting on marshmallows and chocolate.

First off, I have nothing new to say about this topic. I am not a professional historian; I am a high school history teacher who was lucky enough to be trained by some amazing historians at a public university in Massachusetts. But I may be the only person in your social media circles to point…

One thing you learn when you move to a developing country is that disaster is never really very far away. Many of us who live in wealthy countries have never learned this lesson deep in our bones. Even after this pandemic subsides, we will try to go back to our mindsets of invincibility and inevitability…

“Well, if you’re feeling lonely,” she tilts her head at me from across the breakfast table, “let’s do a Sunday roast tomorrow!” “Well, if you’re lonely,” another friend says, “come to my place tomorrow and you can play with my dog while I make dinner!” “Well, if you’re lonely,” a third says, “let’s go out…

I like to put my music library on shuffle and see what music I’ve forgotten was there. Today I was surprised by Fun.’s “Some Nights.” I write about this song today because it brought up a memory from a few years ago, of a moment that stands frozen in time. It was a good moment.…

For the record, Marrakech did get cold this winter. It nearly reached freezing temperatures a few nights in January. (I know, New Englanders and Midwesterners. I know. But people here barely flinch when the temperatures soar into the 110-degree zone, and correct me if I’m wrong, but haven’t Bostonians historically considered three consecutive days of…

The school’s bus arrives between 7:45 and 7:50 each day, pulling up to the edge of the curb as I stand there chatting with Adam. My colleagues arrive around that time, too, rushing towards the stiffly opening bus doors that always seem like they’re this close to succeeding in their clear goal of staying peacefully…

This week, I reveled in my mornings. What’s not to love? I get to have breakfast. I get to say good morning to Adam (my friend and the head security guard at my apartment) and practice my Darija and French skills. I get to listen to my music as I watch the sun rise over…