The Road Diaries

by Kevin Carrel Footer

A Bubble, Two Clouds and a Turkish Date

The expanding soap bubble from a child’s wand emerges like one of God’s orbs in the dappled sunlight: a brief, magic, improbable moment. A flitting, daring, pointless endeavor and, for that, all the more beautiful. Then it bursts, a spasm in the sunlight, and one...

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Milonga de Carnaval

by Kevin Carrel Footer I arrived in Argentina already nostalgic. There is no logical explanation for this as I had no past here. No grandfather of mine sat me on his lap and told me stories of his youthful adventures in Buenos Aires. No branch of the family tree had...

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Other People’s Stories

by Kevin Carrel Footer I listen to other peoples’ stories and they become mine. It is as if I were compiling an encyclopedia of stories. I settle into a seat at the corner café, open a newspaper or begin a conversation with a stranger. Their...

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A Life of Desire

by Kevin Carrel Footer I am desire. Not reckless, not rambunctious, just slow, seeping desire that does not relent. My desire is like the water that springs inexplicably from a crack in the dry stone: no one knows where it comes from but they all come here to drink. I...

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The Morning is Sacred

We are all searching for that creative space in our lives where we explode through the predictable form by which most of the world knows us and reveal the deeper current that runs through us. Writer Paul Jarvis challenged me to describe how I make that creative space...

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Write Like You Dance

My spiritual practice is my life (with emphasis on the word "practice"). I try my best to embrace the chaotic, contradictory, random abundance and confusion around me (and inside me) and bring it all into balance. Balance for me means not getting overly attached to...

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Blue Redemption

There is a certain song, an instrumental by harmonica player Charlie Musselwhite from 1967 called “Christo Redemptor” that I play in the dark hours. When it seems like the world must end, I put that CD on and I play along on my harp. The song is a long, strange...

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Dreaming of Tangerines

by Kevin Carrel Footer In the 1940s there was a woman who lived in Buenos Aires called “Tangerine.” This was not her real name but rather her nom de guerre, invented for her by a jilted admirer who wrote a poem about her on a napkin while sitting at a bar stool...

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Custodians of the Night City

Across a quiet night in summer I wander. Something's happened -- something momentous -- but now it is over and I am going home. I like what street lights do to the city: little halos for ordinary angels... who walked away. It is at this time -- when everything has...

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