I’ve lived in Minnesota my whole life. My grandparents came to Minnesota from the old country and never saw reason to move on. I’m always surprised
I was walking the dogs around Staring Lake when, from somewhere overhead, I heard a sound I’d never heard before: a clear, sweet, almost melodic, chattering
Remember the Ray Bradbury story, “In a Season of Calm Weather”? Anyone? Recall how the protagonist stumbles upon Picasso drawing in the sand and realizes that
It is sometimes very hard to tell the difference between history and the smell of skunk. – Rebecca West The stink is mine. Should I be embarrassed?
A county clerk whose job is to issue licenses refused a marriage license to a gay couple as it is against God’s law, disavowing the law
I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it. -Picasso I’ve admitted I’m a slow learner,
I loathe talking about myself. Even more, I loathe talking about my work. I have become so adept at not talking about myself or my work
I loathe talking about myself.
I’m just back from the dog park where I spent 30 minutes chucking a tennis ball for my dog who refuses, for the most part, to
ON, MARCHING MEN, ON. TO THE GATES OF DEATH WITH SONG. As writers we work words the way a silversmith works molten light. We imagine, we