Author: ps pirro

• Desire

  I came home from band practice a few weeks ago with a little Meteor button accordion. It belonged to a bandmate. Now it belongs to…

• Not Everything is a Metaphor

  Last night I played a gig at a local club.  Midway through my last song, my voice vanished. Disappeared. Poof. Gone. It came back, intermittently, just…

• Reading the Leaves

  She sat with me on the porch and we shared tea from an earthenware pot, a brew of gathered leaves, years of careful selection, berries…

• Stick by Stick

  Chip Ward is a big-picture thinker attuned to the importance of the small, local, persistent acts of reclamation and restoration. In this article he writes…

• Telling Stories

  I’m sitting next to Frank at our weekly gourd band practice. Frank is a journalist. He writes a local history column for the paper in…

• Rush Hour

  The man in the SUV didn’t understand the concept of the merge. He didn’t realize, or didn’t accept, that the onus was on him to…

• Moving the Furniture

  The last time I was in Buffalo, New York, was perhaps 15 years ago. It was even then a city in ruins, roads gone unrepaired, the industrial…

• We Do What We Do

  I have a friend who takes to the woods each morning with her camera. She photographs insects and snakeskin and dew on spiderwebs, orange daylilies…

• Save Your Energy

  The very-energetic Joe Konrath continues his point-by-point refutation of the idea that Amazon is the devil. Me, I’m still contemplating the seemingly-unrelated (but we know…

• Lead

  Perhaps it was the leaded gasoline that did it. Gone too late in all our happy motoring, the burnt aftermath lingering in our cells, permeating…