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Origin Story

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     After all, I was an aspiring   journalist. I used it as a tool to travel and see the world, to understand and get inside some questions that puzzled me from my earliest days. I became a freelancer. It felt better that way, challenged me in unexpected ways and took me to unexpected places.   I was born in the shadow of the Holocaust and Hiroshima in East Melbourne, Australia. World War Two was drawing to a close and my  first faint memory is my mother holding me in her arms the day she left. And there’s a black and white picture of me and my baby brother in matching woolen overcoats, sitting huddled on my grandparent’s front stairs looking straight back into the lens of my father’s Leica camera. He was documenting the departure. It was many years before I saw my mother again. And then it went blank. _____ Her name was Miss Moon and she had a kind face and curling white hair and her voice was soft. She  lived on top of a mountain, the highes...
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Hancock Stories: Mr. Squires.

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It was the turn of the season and half the leaves had fallen and the low hills and valleys still blazed with color but the sun had lost its bite and now shone soft and yellow during the last warm days. I pottered in my garden, a man of retirement age not yet ready to lay down, I pottered and I contemplated and moved things around, stones and  branches and pulled, uprooted Bishops Weed and made compost piles and felt the earth and thought about planting garlic. I think he first commented on the garden and how the yard had changed since he'd delivered groceries to the old woman who’d lived upstairs. She worked as a caretaker at that retirement home on the hill when it was a hospital.  What happened to her?" he asked.  “She died a while back”, I said.  "You retired?”, he asked and I had to think about that again and realized that in many ways I was and I answered affirmatively but noted I still did a few things. I was hanging on I guess and winter is coming. He...
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