November 1, 20201
You do not have to rage, all bright and raving. Go gently if you can. Let go of all that sharp need. Prove that fading is a form of grace.
November 2, 2021
Smoke trees having some sweet goodbyes with the sun.
November 3, 2021
It’s a tiny tragedy that some days my couch and screens feel more compelling than this.
November 5, 2021
As everything else gives into grayness, this witch hazel shakes its pom-poms for the fall.
November 7, 2021
Drop in close and see how well-dressed the world is.
November 8, 2021
Sometimes the city is a meadow.
November 10, 2021
Standing in the wind on the middle of the Burnside bridge, I face north and feel the thin autumn sun on my shoulder. Fancy doom towers loom to the east. Tents line the sidewalk to the west. Both are full of people brittle with need. Behind me traffic rushes south and river ambles west and more towers rise and rise and rise. Only the camera can crop out all that’s changed and all that hasn’t.
November 14, 2021
Imagine all the things you don’t know about all the things resting right before your eyes. Imagine the berries being freckled and beautiful long before you stopped at the fence and stared.
November 15, 2021
A single golden note sung over and over. The dark wet bodies saying goodnight.
November 18, 2021
November 21, 2021
Hello nerve and blood vessel and bone. It’s good to see you again.
November 22, 2021
Hello might-as-well-be-winter light. You lit up the tree across from the Thai place so perfectly. A swirl of celestial persimmons. A brief but inescapable galaxy. Not a photo. Not a post. Not a thing to scroll by.
November 23, 2021
Fog renovates the park.
November 26, 2021
Garden Diamonds.
November 29, 2021
The Hawthorne neighborhood decorates for the holidays.
November 30, 2021
December 2, 2021
Do the people who get to live beneath these eucalyptus know the trees are whispering to every passerby? Come close, close your eyes, inhale.
December 4, 2021
December 6, 2021
Layers of empty
December 7, 2021
Tiny rain highways busy with the season.
December 10, 2021
Nothing left to sell but itself.
December 13, 2021
Wet winter air through dry winter lungs
December 14, 2021
You grew into an awkward, untidy beauty.
Now the crows dance secrets into your fingertips.
December 16, 2021
Our beautiful fucked up city
December 18, 2021
Wandering downtown Portland picking up trash with SOLVE scratched an unexpected itch (must get a mechanical grabber for picking up trash in my own damn yard!). I highly recommend volunteering with SOLVE. I highly recommend a visit to all the lonely streets
December 19, 2021
December 21, 2021
Fragile is relative
December 22, 2021
They say she’s seen better days but why not this? Undelineated. Unimpressive.
What if the best is a coat of rain and dozens of soft dying arms to hold the already dead?
December 26, 2021
December 28, 2021
Winter alphabets.
December 29, 2021
Winter affections.
Tracy Burkholder 
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