The Shale Basin.

The shape of The Shale Basin, soon to be wintered, shading the bed of the Puget Sound,   etching, at anchor, an orbit in the near-frozen water, caught between kelp and canopy of cloud.   Low, early December sunlight casting long shadows, shafting the surface; an ever-complicated dance.   Slow repetition, return and feign of … Continue reading The Shale Basin.

The Pirate Party.

There aren't so many pirates at the pirate party. Mostly, it's just people at a party. Wayne, though, who I haven't seen since Tommy, me and him spent that week in Cornwall, is stood at the window, staring at the sea. He has a blackjoke, plastic pirate patch over one eye. It has a skull … Continue reading The Pirate Party.

Dim Star, Mojito & Mojo Rising.

Had he never misplaced the mojo, he may, he reasoned one evening, have been able to keep a keener eye on his star. But, he sensed, it had fallen. He came to this late. Drew scant detail. Reason, as such, eluded. He dreamed a nearfuture pocket of his being patted. Mojo? He looked up in … Continue reading Dim Star, Mojito & Mojo Rising.