Each year, come spring, a turkey hen appears in our neighborhood. She browses and grazes with a calm demeanor and kind-of acts like she owns the place. Where does she live the rest of the year? Not telling. Come spring,…
“Picture yourself walking through a meadow. There is a path opening before you. As you walk, you feel hungry. Look to your left. There’s a fruit tree in full bloom. Pick what you need.” Thus began one day’s reading, this…
Tulips at Cheekwood will peak this week! “Everything is Beautiful” at the Frist. Susan Page speaks, meets, and greets at the Nashville Public Library (Washington Bureau chief of USA Today, she’s written books on Barbara Bush and Nancy Pelosi). Nashville…
I’m a slow learner. Or another word: stubborn. Pain is a patient teacher. I love the way Denise Levertov imagines a gentle conversation with grief… Talking to Grief By Denise Levertov Ah, grief, I should not treat you like a…
While winter’s last bloom graced flower and tree, the cardinals in my yard kept singing their song of Spring. The coyotes kept to their usual path, shortly after dawn. The doves found the seed I put out for all…
What will Spring look like in Kyiv? I dread it for them – and for us. This week, an icy grip holds the city. And worse approaches. In my yard, the world awakens and gladdens. Part of me does too….
It’s Saturday morning – dark, early – and I’m in a hotel room in the desert. I’m eating a Twix bar in bed and drinking English Breakfast tea. A tiny fire burns in the tiny fireplace, fed by a…
Pure Colour by Sheila Heti is “that rarest of novels – as alien as a moon rock and every bit as wondrous” (Kirkus Reviews). Or maybe it’s “an underwhelming fable, a sort of Generation X Jonathan Livingston Seagull”(Publisher’s Weekly). I’m trying to sort…
A blood-red cardinal lies murdered in the garden, dropped by hawk or cat. Daffodils and hyacinths that emerged too early shiver and regret. The lenten roses, soggy, droop. In times such as these, one turns to poetry… Heavy by Mary Oliver…