Steve's Blog

Amidst a thin flock aerating a suburban lawn, a single ibis ceased its probing, then rotated as if with oiled gears. Its long curved beak turned to me, like a compass needle finding a new north. This ibis didn’t blink, it simply aligned, radiating static about Egyptiana and large blocks of stone.

Feathered enigmas scythed back into Sarasota’s sky. Their forked tails seemed longer, trailing wisps of discarded thought. The kites themselves ignored our ongoing chaos, wheeling grace, occasionally dropping hopes of floatation. Their return hasn’t heralded spring; it has perforated the veil of the insane.

The bright pearl was caught in skeletal fingers of oaks. The light felt thick, pooling on the lawn like a luminous drool. Shadows didn’t lengthen, they writhed, detaching from objects. Owls flew backwards, hooting sorries. Down the lane, Mrs. Armoir’s petunias were observed secreting to slugs. The air tasted faintly of the forgotten. This moon […]

In the realm of wet roots and air, in a fragment of sun made sinuous, a serpent draped in a fern’s stretched palm. It watched with amber beads, silent, as a second ribbon poured across weathered planks before slipping into the lush. Finally, a third coiled serene on the railing, this last yellow string surveyed […]

Past the tangle of strap ferns and tillandsias, a turn revealed the night heron. Not motionless, but subtracting motion from each moment. Tiny crabs locked in flamenco. The bird’s crest emitted a hum, audible in blinks. Tourists reported colors tasting of trigonometry. The heron waited, a feathered stump hanging reality.

One moment, observing anhingas, the next, pressed against the cool, corrugated bark of a Bald Cypress, its buttressed roots gripping the dark water like knuckles. It felt like hiding with the tree. The air tasted metallic, the lick of a battery terminal connected to the Paleozoic. I felt the thrum of the tree’s wooden thoughts, […]

This one carried the humid gravitas of the glades. In its beak, a pebble, pulsing with light like a firefly’s sigh. No caw, instead, the air crackled, translating into warnings of misplaced Wednesdays. The crow dropped the pebble, where it absorbed ambience. Then it vanished, leaving little stone of doubt.

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