My grandfather was, for lack of a better term, an ass. Unfortunately, he suffered a lot of symptoms of what I often referred to as “Old Man-itis.” On top of the real-life ailments that forced him to live at home with us, his general abrasiveness made me avoid him like […]
The Crows Know Something We Don’t Read More »
I used to look out the rusted iron bars of my window and dream about being a bird. The chain that shackled me to my bed was just long enough to reach the windowsill, and so every night after my father would visit my room I would lie awake and
A Talking Crow Taught Me to Fly Read More »
I hate birds. I’ve hated birds ever since I was forced to go to my grandmother Vera’s home, who lived isolated in her inherited Victorian mansion. She let most of her estate fall away to ivy and rot, but not the 160-year-old astronomy room- that room was precious to her,
