Jim Harrison wrote in his poem, “Time”— Time sinks slowly to the deepest part of the ocean, the Mariana Trench. She’s tired of light and there it’s pure black…She feels abused by clocks. They were never meant to be. She preferred us drifting through our lives like clouds, without dials, machinery, alarms, riding her like the […]Read more "Time"
It’s a misty, overcast morning. The air is primed for rain. The sweet corn calls from the garden. It’s time — perhaps past time — to pick and process it for winter storage. The summer winds to a close on these last days of August. In northwestern Minnesota summer announces its exit without equivocation. The […]Read more "My Question"