The sunset bloomed like spilled ink on wet paper the evening she died.
The brightest copper-gold, a deep burgundy rose, orange like the fruit.
I remember looking out the window,
worrying and then not thinking at all,
just seeing the colors
like it was the first time they’d risen from the falling sky.
My mother cried from the neighboring room.
She’s dead, she said. Your grandmother’s dead.
A lighthouse keeper,
A foolish dream,
A trade of times past.
Yet the desire is as present
As the beacon in the night.
A light of comfort in purport,
It served only to frighten me.
The siren call of the tugboat
Haunts into my reveries.
Life sacrificed for a lighthouse,
What a folly thought.
Was the tale a parable,
Or did neurosis truly save
That which could give no thanks?
I gave a talk last week about the cultural influence of Waterford’s early days. It was a time of tremendous creativity, of great innovation, of deep belief and of courageous vision. In 1980, our founders Nancy and Dustin Hueston conceived a school that began as a learning laboratory and prodigiously evolved into the best college preparatory, liberal arts educational experience in Utah.
Rain and Chip
The jungle rippled below Gecko like a green civet’s fur in the wind. No one was in sight; it was just Gecko, the ocean of a jungle, and the bluebird sky. Not even a cloud.
We continue to hear news of many recognitions for our students and faculty in a broad range of fields. We have collected a number of them here, but please forgive us if we have overlooked any!
Tim Stout published another book on the Japanese language titled, Japanese Kanji for Beginners.
A sense of being completely alone,
An attempt at isolating oneself,
Making man an island
In the only way short of witchcraft.
Hearing from the outside.
A low-quality hum among the din,
One peek into their isolation.
The cloying tease of a song
Putting you on the strained, uneasy fringe,
Halfway between their world and your own.
Stress. Stress always was, is, and will most likely be, part of my life. Stress. Arriving to school with a grumbling stomach and dark circles under your eyes. My whole life is made of stress. Academics, music, sports. I am like the Greek God Atlas, holding the weight of the world on my soldiers, the sky quickly aging me. Stress.
How to write a novel:
- Take a shower. Mull for forty-five minutes over the brilliant idea that’s been occupying your thoughts for the last two weeks. You know, the idea that’s kept you from getting any work done.
- Open a blank document. Stare at it until its gaping blankness consumes you.
- Check your email. Someone may have sent you an urgent message to which you must respond immediately.