Two blocks below The bay pushes gently over stony shores Marking cycles of time As the fleet of fishing boats crawls in and out of their ...

"You mean you don't want any of them?" my mother asks, at least semi annually. She has taken out the shoebox of old photos an...

I read this in a small coastal business paper today. "The creative class of people is one of the signs of an emerging area. Then ri...

To be given the task at 11 or 12 Of filling the gas tank of the old lawnmower As the warm July sun dropped its late shadows across the oil...

A few months ago I left the city to return to the Oregon Coast. Leaving the spiraling, urban sprawl of 600,000 for a quiet fishing village o...

Land If you had told me, just two years ago, that I would be making part of my living creating scale model miniatures. . . I would have l...

The doorbell rings by itself again as it has done dozens of times since we moved in We've taken to going down, opening the door, and we...