The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
It was back when we used to listen to stories, our minds developing pictures as we were taken into the elsewhere of our experience or to the forbidden or under the sea. Television was wrestling, Milton Berle, Believe It Or Not. We knelt before it like natives in front of something sent by parachute, but... Read more »
November again and the snow comes sudden and heavy. This is what we like best. This is what we paid our money for. Snow on snow, all day and all night, everything muffled, distant. Tomorrow, no school, no work, no worship service, no visitation of the sick, the poor, the widows or the orphans. Whatever... Read more »
1. The one where the preacher’s kid from Georgia, growing up in a house with no books but the Bible, became a great poet. 2. The one where the great poet remained faithful to his wife even after her stroke, devoted to her for fifty years. 3. The one where he won the Nobel Prize... Read more »
The three-toed sloth is the slowest creature we know for its size. It spends its life hanging upside-down from a branch, its baby nestling on its breast. It never cleans itself, but lets fungus grow on its fur. The grin it wears, like an idiot clown, proclaims the joys of a life which is one... Read more »
When the fine days migrate east from Ohio, climbing Vermont’s greenest mountains and fording the Connecticut at White River Junction; when our meadows take relief from inversions and July’s lamentable heat, you and I hike in fortuitous air up-mountain on logging roads—our dog Max leading us, bouncing, looking back with mild impatience, making sure we... Read more »
We are waiting for snow the way we might wait for a train to arrive with its cold cargo— it is late already, but surely it will come. We are waiting for snow the way we might wait for permission to breathe again. For only the snow will release us, only the snow will be... Read more »