Author Archives: Ken Greenman

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 →

I have a love-hate relationship with a bridge crossing the Hudson between Kingston and Rhinebeck. A long, arching, curve, so high and steep that when driving up one side, the other end is unseeable. I become a sailor on the … Continue reading →

The joys of morning music: a creaking rising; hawking of phlegm; sneezing; farting; the trickle of pee in the toilet; the slow, groaning, unbending of a slightly stooped spine… These, all music to my ears, even without my hearing aids. … Continue reading →

There was a time when all the gifts beneath the tree were “From Santa” and with a beguiling specificity, were almost all for me. Bags of Civil War soldiers, their skin Blue or Gray depending. A red cabed, silver trailer … Continue reading →

Showing a little wear lately but still the strong, bolted on hinge of the see-saw. Though creaking sometimes, like an aging History Prof, who knows more than his whole department, but just takes a little longer to get it straightened … Continue reading →

Tonight is the longest night. And just after the longest darkness begins the coming of the light. Spinning on her axis, Earth, degree by degree, second by second shifts her face toward the sun. Thus, at the start of Winter, … Continue reading →

The stone on which I sit is as porous as a fishing net, the spaces between its atoms as wide as the universe surrounding a meager sprinkle of stars. As is a week. Sabbath, a thin split in the six … Continue reading →