It's fitting that they find out this week, at the start of the new year. It isn't when I'd planned on telling them, but it doesn't matter. Maybe I'll be less reticent this year.
Every day I dump books into the steely mouth of the return bin, where they rumble away into silence.
The light of day's end on a pale brick wall.
What I eat this week, among other things: pomegranate seeds and a few small pieces from the head of a trout.
Two good places for a conversation: the front steps of my apartment building at night, and a sunny paved courtyard rimmed with trees and stone ledges.
On Yom Kippur, during a quiet section of the afternoon prayers, a marching band sweeps past our windows; the trumpets, drums, flutes and trombones break into the solemn hush.
Three qualities I wish for in plenitude: persistence, discipline, and courage.