C.M. Rivers

"The point of being an artist is that you may live." ~ Sherwood Anderson

Journal

  • Listless

    Every day I make a list of things that need to be done, things that might slip through the fine mesh net of short-term memory. Today, the list contained more items than I could possibly accomplish.  So I did what you might expect – I pushed it down into the folds of my left-hand pocket, Read more

  • Wondering Aloud

    Think of the way clouds roll across a big sky.  Think of the embroidery of a spider, how hard it works to put food on the table.  Think how familiar you are with the contents of your wallet, purse, kitchen cabinets, the scent of your own pillows. I wonder if this is how birds feel Read more

  • Pearl

    Walking alone in nature can be sacred, healing and rejuvenating. The motor of your mind gradually stops its whirring and quiets down, like a swarm of locusts moving further into the distance.  Constrictions loosen.  Stale transforms to Vivifying.  You have made some space around yourself, and you are participating in creation.  The sights and sounds Read more

  • What I Observed Last Wednesday

    Evergreen trees take a solemn stance, seem to long for rain in their crooked row, seem to pity the quivering cottonwood leaves, and decline to change for the coming snow.   Read more

  • Walking Home

    As is so often the case, it was only me at my own side, constant companion. Eyes on the next bend in the road, waving mosquitoes away unsuccessfully, rounded stones half-buried in the ground pushing at my feet through the soles of my shoes. The light softens now. Cloud-shadows of evening begin to lick the Read more

  • Knick-Knacks

    I remember my mom yelling at my dad through the phone, and wondering when I might get to meet him.  I remember meeting him, the sound of his laugh, the slope of his shoulder, how he rubbed his feet together at the end of the day, how he took the list my mom had made Read more