The air is silver with sea mist—the hills of Setúbal, beyond the Rio Tejo, glimmer watercolor like, their serenity at odds with the roar of airplanes eternally circling Lisbon. Right now another growls overhead, descending towards the eastern side of the city, laden, no doubt…
2
On Keeping Journals
3
"The bookcase glows, backlit in crimson light—tall and broad, its shelves empty—" This singular sentence is all that survives of the fourth draft of…
6
2
I have been homesick lately. Not for any of the nine states, two countries and dozens of towns and cities in which I have lived, but for a particular…
6
The evening sky glows peach and lavender above the Rio Mondego. The bridge is lined with people holding candles, as are all the streets leading from…
2
There was a time when emigrating to Portugal seemed impossible. The Portuguese Consulate in San Francisco was shuttered, as was much of the world in the…
8
"Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on…
3
The work never stops on a farm—especially an old farm, with ceaseless renovations and repairs to see to. Leaking roofs, aging doors, gardens and…
5
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Letters to My Generation