Tag Archives: John Hiatt

The Light You Do Not See

At 4:30 a.m. the waterfront view is fully saturated one day and colorless mist the next. The best hints I gather from my starting vantage point a few blocks away lie in the light: usually a patch of shimmering silvery-slate … Continue reading

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Like a Burning Spear

It’s about 1:30 a.m. and I’m thirteen hours into a ten-hour trip in the dog days of August. I’m alone in the baby blue mom van, lost off a highway, pulled over in a dingy industrial park somewhere in Connecticut–either … Continue reading

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The Quiet Conjurer

Signs from above need not bring you to your knees. Nor do the bright copper departed always tap at your shoulder, or tickle your heel. Messages and messengers ┬áthat appear in forms our five senses perceive–a touch, a bird’s rustle, … Continue reading

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Roots and Wings

“Roots and wings.” It was shorthand for the process of growing up and heading out into the world in Maira Kalman’s “Max Makes a Million,” and a nod to the notion that parents provide for their children a foundation to … Continue reading

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