Blather
Cooking for Guys
Live to Camp
Camp to Live
Poetry
and Other Lies
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Mortality Waits
In the ominous gloom of predawn, behind and somewhere above the henhouse, an owl poses the question: “Who? Who, who?” Inside, the hens shuffle restlessly, murmuring their fears and discontent, unhappy to be awakened before sunup,...
I Got Burned
When I look at photos of you from your youth, I laugh and say:"I got burned!"You do know I am just kidding?You were beautiful when we metand you are beautiful now.When I look at you I still see the beautiful woman I first met, all those...
The Mystery
The clouds are gone. Bright stars wink, sprinkled across the black sky. I close my eyes to meditate, breathing, but the stars call to me. As I open my eyes a shooting star burns across the southern horizon. I give up on the breathing exercises and stare into the...
26 Degrees
Dawn breaks, the color of old lead; an almost invisible icy mist wafts down. I hear it rattle the dead leaves and feel its tentative caress on my face.
Season To Taste
Amy tells me I add way too much salt when I cook. She laughs because I never know how much horseradish is too much until after my first bite. Eyes watering, mouth afire, my nose tingling like a funny-bone tapped exactly wrong. And sometimes, I pepper my writing with...
