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First was the priest, and I only mention it for the sake of completeness. It was a fine and courteous eulogy but gave little insight into the meat of the man. We were told of his friendliness, his generosity towards his neighbours, all the base levels of
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out here the land/speaks in Quaker silence
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Grief has a steep curve, and each of us -- sons, wives, best friends -- has to climb that curve somehow and make it down the other side.
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On witnessing the community of harvest, and the weird orange of the dirt roads, the gridded stretch of farm meeting forest, the soft barrel-shapes found in the fields and barns and clouds alike, the animal scents trailing off the free-roaming herds, and t
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They are an abandoned garrison awaiting reinforcements that will never come.
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The coyotes howled and yipped and barked, and Max thought he could make out individual voices—five or seven of them, maybe more. He kept his eyes on the woods east of the lake, looking for them, for movement. In the moonlight the leafless trees—Sid Miller
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