I don’t often think about my breath.
There are no miscalculations or extraneous details—things are only borrowed or loaned between neighbors.
Meaning, it turns out, doesn’t always accompany mortality.
I care a lot about things like that. I want people to remember good things about me.
But I will say that—for me—being confined to my home has sometimes felt liberating in a small and quiet way.
The next morning she was clutching the screen door with her dainty insect toes.
No one has any idea what to do, and we’re all trying to use what we’ve got to make things work.
When confronted with a dozen or so unexpected snails, one faces questions of moral principle one never thought one would.
The first time I saw her, I was sitting on Cotter’s lap—he had been my best friend for probably six years at that point—at a meeting I crashed after coming home early from France.
“There are peacocks in Creston?!??”
