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At the Mammoth Hotel in Yellowstone Park, elk have forgotten that they are wild. They  graze on the tidy front lawn, sometimes causing traffic jams in the parking lot and the adjacent streets. Tourists have to be kept from walking up to these totally NOT domestic animals, and trying to pose with them. Bear in…

An old friend sent me a blog post from the Wall Street Journal today, noting that it was about the restriction of free speech. I’m not sure I agree that it is, or that what is discussed — the decision by several cities to not approve Chick-fil-a franchises — is an abridgement of freedom of…

I’ve written recently about how politics is personal for me. So is poetry, but it doesn’t come out the same way. And lately, as I become increasingly aware of the futility of trying to get people to see both sides of an issue, I wonder if I wasn’t right to stick with poetry for so…

I’m fashed, my Aunt Bonnie would say. From the French ‘fâcher,’ to make angry, or offend. It’s an old Southern term — probably been around since French settlements. It isn’t just ‘to get mad,’ however — at least not the way my family used it. If you’re fashed, you’re obsessing over something, tying yourself in…
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