Fred’s not a hunter but Animus is a beast he’d hunt down and kill and mount on his wall if he had a clear shot

Far from the city way out in the country a hot afternoon in high summer as we drive down a bumpy road bouncing one mail box past

There’s always something. Like the growth you found under your arm showering this morning but you decided to go

Day and night preachers hawk the Message of the Cross on television. Once a month they pause and beg for money for

Easter Brunch is a big deal in the metropolis where Fred lives… Restaurants run their ads Ash Wednesday through Good Frida… Years ago brunch began at 11

When we were kids growing up in the city we had prairies and a little hill and we’d put Stevie

It’s outpatient surgery and she’s running late trying to catch a spider in the kitchen sink. Wants to carry it outside

Dubville used to be a quiet town, not that much was going on. The young would move to the city after high school… The elderly would stay because

In the summer of 1956, any Saturday at midnight when the moon was full and the stars were bright, you would see Grandma Groth

I have to hope America can trust and welcome them especially parents hiding children

If I owned a magazine I’d publish folks who agree with me as long as they remained abstract,

The teacher tells the third grade the order of the seasons cannot be changed. Summer, fall, winter, spring arrive in order, then start over.

A row of lilacs covered with a summer snow. Ten white butterflies.\ Donal Mahoney

Years ago Rodney King, after his beating in LA, softly asked America, “People, can we all just get along? Can we stop

I’ll have to ask some preacher what if he comes when it’s inconvenient when I’m bowling or lifting a stein of lager