In the pale light of a February morning, a meteor flared unforeseen across the Russian sky. The fireball burned through the cloudless blue, weeping a contrail of smoke in its wake, before eventually crashing into the Ural Mountains and leaving hundreds of people injured by shattered glass from its shockwave. Recorded on myriad photographs and … Continue reading Across the Sky
Author: julianhoffman
I'm a writer living beside the Prespa Lakes in northern Greece.
Embers
To listen to an audio version of 'Embers' please press the play button They appear out of the silence and snow without sound, without any sign of foretelling that I can decipher. Arriving as if by magic, they flare from reefs of pale and brittle reeds like they’d been pulled from a hat, or lance … Continue reading Embers
Glimpsed, In Passing: 2012
November rains lashed the valley, slanting from first light across the withered mountain folds, sinking the garden until a few last salads floated like weeds cast up by the sea. As I worked at my desk the woodstove clicked and hummed behind me, sometimes hissing at a wet seam in the beech or releasing smoke … Continue reading Glimpsed, In Passing: 2012
The Shape of a Scent
I stand in the midst of the forest, beneath a shower of leaves. It’s as though a treasure chest has been tipped from the sky, spilling its glittering riches. The woodland surface is woven in a pattern of copper and gold, stitched with the sharp shadows of trees. Sunlight pours into the hollows as if … Continue reading The Shape of a Scent
A Last Dance
These days are cast like a spell, stretched taut and seamless across two seasons. Spun from sunlight and warm winds, they’re days with bright promise still inside them, nested there like pearls. The high vaulting sky might be the sea, as if by leaping into it you could float clear across the blue. Sailing without … Continue reading A Last Dance
Julian Hoffman 