The Parable of the Sower Two trees with bad roots Planted by Lamont, dead six years now He’d have replaced...
And when this house goes down to wrack and ruin, as it must and will, not just because the brick...
Trophies aaaaAny lost citizen of the wild wandering our land didn’t live very long. Most were consumed. A few undressed...
Moving On, Not Moving On I think I knew our new home was two states west of home. But what...
Hindsight isn’t up close as a rearview mirror. It’s unearthed, like the little blue boot turned up by the tractor...
Jeremy Haworth is an Irish poet and writer. In 2019, he started Charis Garden, renovating a tumbledown farmstead and walled...
A Meditation on the Land —remembering a farm foreclosure. For Darrell Ringer, 1953-93 “Thank you,” he said, while the black...
Still Falling Snow The woods are mine now and they fill up with snow more often than I’d like. The...
Live Oak After seven years of walking this road, I’ve picked my tree. I hug it daily, stretch my arms...
All Flesh Is Grass The days passed quickly, back then, though some hours lingered in that hot hospital room, waiting,...
Coals The abandoned farm is a black pool aaaaaaain the memory of the forest beyond. The road goes by never...
Circa 1900 Waldo sharpened the blades of his turn-of-the-last-century sled and slid Downhill at age eighty-four. His wife chided him,...