Rebecca Mead wrote about it in The New Yorker, a deserted London that is, not post-apocalyptic, but post-capitalist. In her description,...

No te imaginas todo lo que ha pasado desde que te fuiste. El fuego de Notre Dame te habría encontrado impotente ante las imágenes de la...

Last week, provincial governments started to release COVID-19 projections. Some of those were grim, and people wondered why the federal...

Growing up, my mother would always talk about the landing of Apollo 11 on the moon. She would recall how everyone gathered close to...

Today, it was the first time I saw my kid's eyes widen with concern. The fear and worry were too obvious to ignore. She needed...

My first impulse is to write that I don't know how it is to live in other parts of the world. But even I am a bit unsure about what I...

This morning, I had a meeting with an editor who wanted to know a little bit more about my work. It was a pleasant conversation in which...

I rarely drink. I might have a glass of something two or three times a month. In the summer, I might have a beer at the beach. Special...

It hit me when I read the essay's title. For a moment, confused thoughts rushed within me like white water: the suicide, the note, her...

Darcy, the dog, needed a walk. A long one too. Although he has been receiving a lot more attention (now that Tessa and I are both home...