I wrote this post in 2016 and Sheri McGregor put it in an anthology, a kind of “Chicken Soup for the Soul” for nature freaks. The essay would belong to Sowing Creek Press for a year following publication after which I could do anything I wanted with it, such as post it here on Plastic […]
“Chicken TV is keeping me sane,” she says, as we soak in that timeless world, mesmerized by their languid pecking and the occasional drop of a leaf.
“Here comes Nick,” I’d say, watching him work his way across the lawn in a slow, rolling gait.
If you had asked me even a year before could I see myself living in the American South, I would have shaken my head.
I met Shirley and Ken Kenneally in 1981 when Cathi invited me to their home for a party. Although the house was set a good way in from the street, I could hear the music from the sidewalk.