The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
The jonquils. They come back. They split the earth with their green swords, bearing cups of light. The forsythia comes back, spraying its thin whips with blossom, one loud yellow shout. The robins. They come back. They pull the sun on the silver thread of their song. The irises come back. They dance in the... Read more »
Every poem has been written before at least fifteen times. Every song sung better. The Neanderthals discovered caves already painted with the story of their lives. They invented fire over and over again. And you & I whisper the same sweet nothings we were born with.
you won’t know why. Maybe waiting to tie your shoelaces until everything else is in place. Could be you’ll slide your egg yolks aside eat every bit of bacon, toast, whites while the forsaken yellow orbs stare at you from the side pocket of your empty plate. People will ask why do you save your... Read more »
Fans loved him as Rockford, Maverick, a man’s man, had your back, cool, did the right thing. I loved him for being Doris Day’s husband in a movie I cut class to see, fifth grade, played at the Riviera, only old men and me during the day, went alone told no one, but I had... Read more »
Like the punch line to a very bad joke the obvious and actual answer is: “carefully”. First, you must learn to hold the penguin from behind, to avoid the beak, pressing both wings against the body until you need to hold each out (again, carefully) to clean in and around the extremities. Next, contrary to... Read more »
Winter is black and beige down here from drought. Suddenly in March there’s a good rain and in a couple of weeks we are enveloped in green. Green everywhere in the mesquites, oaks, cottonwoods, the bowers of thick willow bushes the warblers love for reasons of food or the branches, the tiny aphids they eat... Read more »