Letters to My Generation

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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 sound. To remedy this, I have taken lately to lying on the floor in front of a small fan and listening to the sound of loon calls…
Padraic Veum
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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…
Padraic Veum
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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…
Padraic Veum
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"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…
Padraic Veum
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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…
Padraic Veum
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I was twenty-three the first time I boarded an airplane. For an hour before my flight I sat at a bar in La Guardia, sipping Irish Whisky and vibrating…
Padraic Veum
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Candles flicker in a light breeze, reflecting themselves in glass offering bowls. Wisps of incense drift towards the open window. My knees grimace as I…
Padraic Veum
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On learning Portuguese
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Letters to My Generation

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