Author Archives: Ken Greenman

I operate an amusement park on the back deck of our house. Chimes do double duty as sliding poles for squirrels, with an obstacle course of chain-swung feeders, sunflower seeds at the bottom. Flickers flit, feeder to feeder, dodging spinners … Continue reading →

The Faith I left behind was not reduced to rubble, but streamlined, having sloughed off all the iron filagree irrelevant to salvation. It did not sulk in a distant past, rather, using its new shape and stealth, sped, unseen, ahead … Continue reading →

“Momma!” “What, Baby Girl?” “There are roses in a vase down here in the cellar!” “Really.” “Yes! On the little table in their new bedroom Poppa built!” “Well, don’t touch them. They’re Mima’s. Poppa bought them for her.” “Why?” “It’s … Continue reading →

OK. So it’s cold outside. But the North heading, South-West setting sun was shinning and I needed to go out to sit a while, to get away, (before I started yelling,) before night fall and the next blast of wintery … Continue reading →

I live at the end of the road. In the house we built right after our honeymoon, almost fifty years ago. My driveway starts at the the opening in a post and split rail fence surrounding my property. It stretches … Continue reading →

When I was twenty, because there were millions of moments out there ahead of me, I paid no attention to a mere fluttering of a flock of doves. But, now, because I am, as my 70 year old, much loved … Continue reading →

Sometimes, what we believe to be our own truth is merely the opposite of what we pushed back from. The fight to prove the validity of our hard found faith, of what we have come to believe is self-authenticating truth, … Continue reading →

All you who dwell in the mists, but still within the border of my memories, your calling is to bring rememberings, pasts joys, back to me as sun-sparkled rain drops splashing in my mind among the silver slivers of my … Continue reading →

Fifty years ago, I’d just turned eighteen. The clerk at the Fitchburg, Massachusetts MVA noticed that the address on my license application was Thayer Hall, my college dorm. He said, no, not allowed. Said state law doesn’t recognize a college … Continue reading →

Main Street divides our town in half. Its tributaries, all three of them, join it in the weird angled deltas the stone and creek topography our craggy mountain creates. Then, it sneaks out of sight, circling the mountain like an … Continue reading →