Town sits like a sleeping animal on top of a hill, drenched in mist and drizzle. Along the road, a jeep with a silver birch growing where engine was. Snow in the swale. ‘And what is death,’ Neighbor asks, ‘Some mother’s or my own?’ They pop off all day at the clinic, cut into bits… [Read More]
Hard the black bear has to work to speak, accosting the boulder for its lack of ambition, its absence of anger, its need for touch.