The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
Ninety billion galaxies in this one tiny universe— a billion seconds make thirty-two years. No matter how many ways we conceive it, this generous wedge called Ursa Major more than fills my sight. But now, as I turn to put out the lights and give my dog her bedtime cookie, my eyes become the handle... Read more »
The first time my mother went out to eat was on her 25th wedding anniversary at Scordato’s in Paterson, and the second time was for her 50th anniversary at the Iron Kettle House in Wyckoff. My mother said, “I could have cooked this meal better myself.” But I knew she was happy, though she would... Read more »
There is something soothing about the scrape of a rake, the rhythmic process of pulling dead leaves, bending to pick them up, dumping them in curbside lawn bags, something soothing about the way the sun warms your hair one of these last seventy-degree days as you labor past soreness in your arms, until you forget... Read more »
it rained in my sleep and in the morning the fields were wet I dreamed of artillery of the thunder of horses in the morning the fields were strewn with twigs and leaves as if after a battle or a sudden journey I went to sleep in the summer I dreamed of rain in the... Read more »
There were some dirty plates and a glass of milk beside her on a small table near the rank, disheveled bed— Wrinkled and nearly blind she lay and snored rousing with anger in her tones to cry for food, Gimme something to eat— They’re starving me— I’m all right I won’t go to the hospital.... Read more »
It is possible that things will not get better than they are now, or have been known to be. It is possible that we are past the middle now. It is possible that we have crossed the great water without knowing it, and stand now on the other side. Yes: I think that we have... Read more »