The Feminine in Granada
The other day I was seeding a pomegranate, such a sensual fruit with its ruby-red arils clustered together. It got me thinking about Granada, the
The other day I was seeding a pomegranate, such a sensual fruit with its ruby-red arils clustered together. It got me thinking about Granada, the
Boy! Was I ever shocked when I went to pick up my Hertz rental Toyota RAV SUV in Costa Rica.
Imagine a hilltop town, blindingly white cubist architecture, a labyrinth of narrow streets under skies blue as lapis lazuli. Did you think you were in
In the dark of the night, dreaming of their faces jolted me awake. Again. Even though it’s been almost two years since we saw them.
“Mom, when you die I’m not going through all those file cabinets of travel articles in your garage,” Lynn (an “only”) told me one day
In Córdoba, “nadie escapa de la poesía” (nobody escapes from poetry) wrote Shmuel HaNagid, in the tenth century. Rills of water flow softly in a
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