We can only assume that she is dreaming. Perhaps she imagines that she dozes at the side of an abandoned well, on a warm summer day. She dreams of being safe in a world of wildflowers and green leaves, with cicadas buzzing, far away and high up in the hackberry tree.
Like all of . . . → Read More: Lucy in her Bower, Dreaming
I regret that I have lacked occasion to post in this blog for the past two months, and I apologize accordingly to the Growler’s subscribers and occasional visitors. During that time my attention was focused elsewhere, following the death of my father-in-law on the 9th of May.
David Haston was the father of my . . . → Read More: David Haston, 1915-2011
In deep winter, with snow falling, I like to be sitting on a couple of milk crates in someone’s woodworking shop, keeping company while that person re-works the paneling in an old door, or puts together the pieces of a newly stripped kitchen chair.
Woodworking shops are preferred, because they smell the best, but . . . → Read More: In Deep Winter, with Snow Falling
The state of Indiana has placed some memorable figures on the national stage – Eugene Debs, Wilbur Wright, Major Taylor, Wendell Willkie, Jessamyn West – but after all these years the native Hoosier with the greatest name recognition is probably John Dillinger.
You can’t grow up in this state without knowing about him. They’ve . . . → Read More: Remembering Dillinger