For my father, always as a child, the morning hour had gold in its mouth — and so roused of my bed, hot coffee in his thermos and hot chocolate in mine, he’d drive me up Black Mountain, tell me as we flew the nest, “Keep your eagle eyes peeled for the grouse” speckled in…
What did the Grouse Hear?
What did the grouse hear as the Father talked to his Son — what did it hear in the reassuring speech, practiced over a glass of rye, in the repetition of “I will always love you”? Walking among the thin ground cover, random and haphazard, the mottled markings passed on from grouse to grouse as…