Author Archives: Ken Greenman

STALKING AMONG TALL STRAIGHT REEDS , THE GREAT BLUE HERON moved.

Wedge wood chicory grows in a confusion of profusion on the side of the road. By early July, edges of back roads, side roads, dusty dirt roads, are rainbows of day lilies, lupine and daisies, creating the yearly pleasure of … Continue reading →

Dad played chess as a true Russian wages war. Absorb. Absorb. Absorb, deplete enemy resources, stretch his supply lines to the point of snapping then, overwhelm his remains with an unstoppable Kursk tank attack, attack, attack. I, on the other … Continue reading →

He was a big, brawny bully, a boulder for a brain, a brick for a heart, just part of the crowd at the park. I was four. Enjoying being with the adults, picking up branches, twigs for a July 4th … Continue reading →

Father taught me the rudiments of chess when I was four. He would spot me, first, his queen, then, later, his knight, then a mistake or two, until we played an almost even game. But Wilhelm was the first adult … Continue reading →

Dad has motored our sailboat out of the Sound into the little cove. The tide is high enough for the keel to clear the muddy bottom. We will anchor here for a brief hour to swim and sun on the … Continue reading →

Dusk. Long Island Sound steams, cooling after the August day heat. I am nine. I jump the rock path to the boulders we have christened “the bath tub” for one more cool swim before the crowd returns to the city. … Continue reading →

Yes, of course. The globe is a giant graveyard, milleniums of bones, blood, ashes. But, listen, in Spring breezes, Summer cicadas, soft shore waves. Hear the hums of expectations, joyous waiting whispers of the saints, in eager anticipation of the … Continue reading →

There is no straight path. Often, we stumble on a stone, end up up ended in some unexpected ravine, climbing back up the slope, turned around, completely, on a different road, trudging in a different direction. But, where ever we … Continue reading →

The sea will be my waiting place, no moulding dirt for me. Toss my ashes in salty surf, let ocean wash them, clean, away.