by Tim Girvin | Nov 10, 2005 | Diary
Greetings and good morning. And it’s far in the morning there, mid day, here. I’m in Istanbul, having just arrived. I’m staying at the Four Seasons here — which, really, is the first time I’ve done this, ever — staying at a hotel...
by Tim Girvin | Nov 10, 2005 | Diary
In arising this morning, the mist settled out over Central park; and the haze was illumed by the street lights, which glowed from beneath the trees like luminous cocoons enwrapped in silken scrim. Beauty emerged, in advance of the reckoning of the day. From 200 feet...
by Tim Girvin | Oct 30, 2005 | Writings
For a long time, I’ve believed in whispering. Sometimes, in anything, a whisper is far more powerful than a shout. Near silence is better than volume. For in that moment, susurrus — that murmuring in quietude — can be captivating. Perhaps...
by Tim Girvin | Sep 10, 2005 | Writings
This morning the wind comes textured with flavor from the hillocks and tumbled stones below, as the tide recedes in the darker hours; it’s wildly tinctured with seaweed and salted decay, a light scenting of grass and dust, dirt; and there, in the last tasting, a...
by Tim Girvin | Aug 28, 2005 | Writings
For 10 years, I’d watched him; there’s been a white and black plumed Kingfisher, living in front of me; living: loud and large. Literally: in front, the cackling, chattering calls usually beginning early, ending late. I’d see him on a branch, hanging...
