The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
The screened door slamming tells me it is summer. There are other sounds only in the summer, too. The hummingbirds moving from feeder to feeder on the porch, chickadee’s two-note song we hear early on summer mornings, ravens croaking back to their aeries on the ledges every summer evening. There are other birds too, visitors... Read more »
The text of this poem is not available online.
Hi, she says, leaning on the railing. What are you doing, homework? Well, sort of, I say. I’m waiting for my friend. I’m waiting for my heart, she says. (Me too, I think; my friend.) Out on a long walk? I ask. Well, she says, I have a girl friend, I’ve known her 50 years;... Read more »
I like black bears. They are relatively common around here, and they are usually not aggressive. Actually, they are generally affable, loners mostly, but not opposed to hanging out with humans now and then. In fact, I’ve found that in many ways they are a lot like us. My friend, Richard, an older male, drops... Read more »
I’ve fallen many times: the usual stumbles over secret schoolgirl crushes, head-over-heels for teen heartthrobs. I loved them all. I’ve fallen so many times: tripped down the aisle over husband, daughter, son. Madly and deeply, I love them all. I’ve fallen again and again: new friends, a mentor, a muse, numerous books, a few authors,... Read more »
for Marilyn After the white balloons were swept away on the wind that had swallowed most of our vows, after the embraces and tears, the flung rose petals, after new friends and old friends and aunts from everywhere, after you tossed the bouquet, and the cries of the children raised coyote cries on the rim,... Read more »