Jim Harrison
Death series, part one: Once more to the lake, with cheeseburgers
Today begins a death series. If you are of the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness tribe, the timing might feel off to you. It’s true, poems about death would be better suited to November, somber November with its All Souls Day, bare trees and sunless skies. But I’ve always been a Margaret are you grieving […]
MoreA bug by any other name
Dan’s Bugs by Jim Harrison I felt a little bad about the nasty earwig that drowned in my nighttime glass of water, lying prone at the bottom like a shipwrecked mariner. There was guilt about the moth who died when she showered with me, possibly a female. They communicate through wing vibrations. I was careful […]
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