None of us thought we’d die before our “time.” I think it means our presupposed allotted lifetime into old age, perhaps our 70s or 80s. Seeing grandchildren grow. Watching as our bodies change with age, seeing our partners creases form around the same eyes into which we’re used to gazing. Death from stage four cancer […]
The sounds of trees As they all melted together humming into a bee swarm choir. All of them tenors singing around my delicate sensibilities, Breaking the crystal with those high pitched cries at The octave of all deceptions.