Lost & Found
At first I think they’re named for poets – the kind who spread epic tales of adventure, love and power throughout the land. But then I learn they were named not for their songs but for their stripes. And I feel naïve; diminished, somehow.
Until now, when I hear my calling . . . and yours . . . in their mnemonic cry: Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all? And I have to smile as I remember standing beside you, watching as you stirred our broth to a simmer before offering me the first sample from an oversized spoon.
backwoods the narrow path of barred owls fed by the night