The cobblestone alleys of Aix grasp walking trios like unmarked gravestones teething on the ankles of rowdy past drinkers who imbibe before service. Trees adorned in thongs of cheeky light make the ghost of Magdalene blush. Before the side doors, cross-legged, a Romany beggar woman with anthracite eyes beseeches. Silver palmed Goliaths sidle past, blind […]
Tag Archives: Deborah Guzzi
The Bus Ride Himalayan Mountains, Nepal
by Deborah Guzzi
The bus back to Kathmandu—draped from roof to bumper with riders—careens from rock walls to ledge, beeping. Stray dogs and wayward cyclist dodge its downward path into the valley’s maw. Its open windowed, metal sides, rumble-creak over the serpentine mountain track. Dust clouds scarf behind. Molting pine forests hold back crumbling ochre walls on the […]
Now and Then by Deborah Guzzi
The attic wants all loved things to come to it and remain. The timber expands in the heat, clamps closed in winter’s cold. An evergreen branch, nailed into the rafters in nineteen twenty-eight, and the floor boards of King’s Pine recollect the perfume of new cedar shingles mixing with the Old Spice on Grandfather’s square […]