top of page
Search

Le Touriste

Updated: Jul 14, 2020

I am the proverbial tourist. What I see are only glimpses and idealizations. What I use - the bowl for my cereal, the long black dress, and the car that takes me to the store - only last for the duration I am here. And there. I breathe in the unique blend of cultural emissions and political scents of the moment, alerting me of what is there. And here. Even the ideas and thoughts that appear do not belong to me; like the placid exchanges with a polite cashier; an early morning greeting from a passing runner; and the birthday candles that stand erect long enough for wishes of another year in paradise. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you" becomes my next morning's coffee and croissant. It all whizzes by, and I accumulate these forms within my photo album.

 
 
 

Recent Posts

See All
If Only

I was returning to my car from a brief conversation with a nearby stream. We had sat together early one morning and listened to one another's miscellaneously strung-together thoughts. While I did most

 
 
 
“Can you get a fork, Dad?”

A young woman and her father, set up at the table next to me at a local bakery, where the prized goods are not inexpensive. The daughter, dressed in garb characteristic of a financially comfortable mi

 
 
 
Poetry

I'm on the edge of freedom. I still grip the horn tightly with one hand, and the reins with the other. The tall grass brushes my legs as we glide by, and the horseflies attempt to stop us. But the air

 
 
 

Comments

bottom of page