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Bird Flu
As the party murmured and twinkled gently through the afternoon, Franny sat, stiff, on the porch swing watching clouds clog the early-summer sky. She must’ve dozed off when the sky was only half-stuffed with the harmless, fluffy sort of cloud, and was startled awake when the first fat raindrop hit her exposed forearm.
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All Insects Matter
I decided to gingerly place a few dead earwigs and hawk mosquitos in some of the old, saggy, sticky cradles
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On Marriage, And Marilyn, And 50 Years, And Infinity
As if two companions suddenly looked down and found that not only have they become complementary and twinned, but they are conjoined.
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Laughing to Death
Ficus lyrata, the fiddle-leaf fig, is one cheeky sonofabitch, a real bastard of a plant. He bends towards Seinfeld, as if the sun, yet turns away from Friends, as if under threat of wilting.
