The bees are back to harvest the fruit of the flower, to pick through Jupiter’s beard and return to their angular rooms. And when they do, for that brief space between days, what’s it like in the hive with each… Read More ›
I miss the mornings, when there’s no one around. When I would buckle my belt as a state trooper would his holster and start my day sharp as an arrow, aimed at the center. But there is no one to… Read More ›
it’s hard to fathom all the words in the English language that must end with the letter m, or why anyone would think to put that in a poem. Thanks everyone for playing along on my 30-day posting streak!