Will Harris
Will Harris
William Taylor Harrisis an American professional baseball pitcher for the Houston Astros of Major League Baseball. He previously played for the Arizona Diamondbacks and Colorado Rockies...
summer wind rushing
We came in the wind of the carnival. A wind of change, or promises. The merry wind, the magical wind, making March hares of everyone, tumbling blossoms and coat-tails and hats; rushing towards summer in a frenzy of exuberance.
mother home shadow
Everything comes home, my mother used to say; every word spoken, every shadow cast, every footprint in the sand. It can't be helped; it's part of what makes us who we are.
forever
Love not often, but forever.
giving limits process
The process of giving is without limits.
stupid sheep may
Sheep are not the docile, pleasant creatures of the pastoral idyll. Any countryman will tell you that. They are sly, occasionally vicious, pathologically stupid. The lenient shepherd may find his flock unruly, definant. I cannot afford to be lenient.
queens cat night
Like a domestic cat, purring on the sofa by day, but by night, a strutting queen, a natural killer, disdainful of her other life.
good-luck midnight spiders
A spider brings good luck before midnight and bad luck after.
beautiful eye men
It's a feeling which tells me that any woman can be beautiful in the eyes of a man who loves her.
differences house making-a-difference
It isn't just a village. The houses aren't just places to live. Everything belongs to everybody. Everyone belongs to everyone else. Even a single person can make a difference.
lying real broken
Some things can be both real and imaginary at the same time, . . . some lies can be true, . . . broken faith may be restored.
everyday-things magic warning
The right circumstances sometimes happen of their own accord, slyly, without fanfare, without warning. Layman's alchemy. . . . The magic of everyday things.
writing littles madness
The process of writing is a little like madness, a kind of possession not altogether benign.
character people looks
Places have their own characters. . . . But the people begin to look the same.
mother moving wind
That wind. I see it's blowing now. Furtive but commanding, it has dictated every move we've ever made. My mother felt it, and so do I - even here, even now - as it sweeps us like leaves into his backseat corner, dancing us to shreds against the stones. V'la l'bon vent, v'a l'joli vent. I though we'd silenced it for good. But the smallest thing can wake the wind@ a word, a sign, even a death. There's no such thing as a trivial thing. Everything costs; it all adds up until finally the balance shifts and we're gone again, back on the road, telling ourselves - well maybe next time