Selected Writing
"The pikas are in trouble – a bastard ghazal for mid-February"
I shed a few tears this morning, over some foolhardy men in Newfoundland
who save three dolphins by using their boat to smash a path through the enclosing ice to open sea.
The old bird feeder fell, broke, and so, I buy a new feeder, fill it with seed, hang it in the apple tree, and no birds come for a week. Yesterday, a lone chickadee having breakfast.
I change one word in the book – change “freaking” to “fucking” and the line of dialogue
cracks me up – it makes me laugh out loud.
I never have to open my book at airports and prove it’s a book. It never beeps at security.
It bathes with me, often. I never have to plug it in. It’s a single, cohesive, old-fashioned entity.
The pikas are in trouble – global warming is forcing them to move up mountains
a thousand feet, because at temperatures of 73F they overheat, and die. Darwinian fur-balls.