In this scene, Pedro is alone, driving a bus from his home base in San Luis Obispo, CA to San Jose. This idea started to percolate a couple months ago when Nadia convinced me to try a Quaker meeting in Atascadero. Aside from their predominance in the history of Pennsylvania and their association with oatmeal, … Continue reading
We arrive back at Azucar Mountain Road, and turn onto its straighter, flatter track. We are about twenty minutes from the campground now. Bird #1 stands up and takes the bus microphone in her left hand, chewing the fingernails on her right. She queues the microphone but stalls. I wonder what is going through her … Continue reading
In this scene, the narrator, Pedro, has driven a busload of birdwatchers to a location among the oilfields of California’s southern Central Valley. He had a short night of sleep and a redeye departure before a long day ahead, so he is trying to get some rest in the back of the bus. “My eyes … Continue reading
My name, you ask? You are dying to know, I can tell. For I have watched you. I have seen you warring against yourself since the beginning of time, spilling your own blood for the right to call me by the names of your choosing. Part of you has imagined me as legion, and built … Continue reading
How would our lives be different if we could weather the storms of tragedy and loss without fear? What if the fearlessness were not a result of isolation from others or insulation in false hope and comforting beliefs, but of full immersion in uncertainty, armed only with the knowledge and trust that what we perceive … Continue reading
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