HeyJaredThe Lone Loon
Individual images in each piece are meant to be savored and referred to often over time. Though there is a thread of a story, my work is not a novel but rather a collection of poetry, fables and epistles explored over a chronology of passing weeks.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 12
- Latest publication
- Sep 25, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 21, 2026
Latest issues
To Be Invisible – 05/05/2023 (opens the original)
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If you don’t walk in the morning, you might not see it. You need to open your mind and accept the concept. Invisibility is not easily achieved. The new green of spring has watched you from dormant buds. They coruscate, when no one is looking, with a brilliance never seen by human beings. But I am invisible today and it is well worth the effort. The young buck shares our path. The great blue heron does not fly away. The company of mallards, preening near my feet, make no other moves. The gang of
Watercolors Running in the Rain – 04/28/2023 (opens the original)
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I find my fingers one key to the right and noises ooze from my body in the morning when I rise and honey is the color of my true love’s hair. The white bellies of magpies dive from hidden branches and Carlos sits for hours in the rain, close to the trunk. A mob of adult deer lounge on the corner, gangsters offering protection to the soggy neighborhood. Juveniles chase geese in the cold mist, enjoying the abundance of life on display during a rainy day around the lake. Heavy clouds of primary col
I Am Guilty – 04/21/2023 (opens the original)
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It can be terrifying, going into the wilderness once again, struggling to find the most promising trailhead, but we venture in, inspired by the fear. The awkward cormorants dry their wings in the willows. They are not self-conscious. They swim with a skill and grace enjoyed by few of the flighted. But I am stalling, avoiding the commitment, noticing scattered tufts of pelage. Perhaps that was a post-prandial howl just before dawn. I sibilate a categorization of the skeletal remains of a young de
Midnight Brunch – 04/14/2023 (opens the original)
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The big mountains, like 1930’s movies, are always black and white, shades of gray, degrees of silver. It has become a Thursday thing. (Conjuring times when we pretended we were grown but fell into a cycle of sleepless Tuesdays. Unplanned events drew us from our houses for contrived celebrations ending in a drop off at the office sans the benefit of bed or breakfast.) But now we advance in the other direction and the five stages of a perfect sunrise. The large numbers dictate that a pattern would
Another – 04/07/2023 (opens the original)
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I seep into the core and time passes at an accelerating speed, throwing Friday in my face; the week made of hours compressed by the bending of light. Saturn struggles with dawn as the other gods withdraw in protest. They have lost the good ground as another future target comes into the world. The hippopotamus continues to stand sentry at the edge of imagination in the form of a cluttered writing desk. They will need an anvil as they hammer with a four pound sledge, attempting, out of lost hope,
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