Something, a feeling like a recurring Christmas morning,
Read MoreOn a table in Paris
Posts by Yara Zgheib
On wings
How far does the sky go?
“Go, said the bird,” find out.
On a train
The train appears. “All Aboard!”
Read MoreOn a shore in December
“…for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you,” – Walt Whitman, Song of Myself The seashore is a silent, desolate place in December. No children to colour it with the bright red and yellow of beach balls, buckets, and pails. No castles. No large and plush blue towels under creamy parasols and sweet, drip-dropping ice cream cones. In June, it will be warmer. Children – and I – can survive the cold on that promise: returning summer. Another quiet shore in Delaware Bay waits too; in May,… Read More
On Berlin time
“…the most spectacular, moving event…”
Read MoreOn something flaky, airy, ethereally light
All of Paris streamed through the doors at 92 rue de Richelieu…
Read MoreOn a billboard
“Send me a little pot of cheese, that, when I like, I may have a feast.”
Read MoreOn a photograph
“You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”
– Homer, The Illiad
On the last weekend of October
“It comes back decked in gold, so as to inspire wisdom, or its opposite,”
Read MoreOn a hill
Lipstick red, ladybug red, late-August-sky-on-fire red, still steaming. I could smell them from the door. Tomatoes have a smell.
Read More