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Sunday

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by James Wofford

Out in the yard a racoon is climbing to the top of a high straight poplar tree. Sixty feet up, swaying on the slim distant limbs, he is thoroughly licking the leaves one bunch after another. Racoons are climbers but I’ve never seen one this high. First I thought he was after bird eggs in a high nest but apparently it’s bugs or larvae he is feasting on and worth the climb. Read More

by James Wofford
Out in the yard a racoon is climbing to the top of a high straight poplar tree. Sixty feet up, swaying on the slim distant limbs, he is thoroughly licking the leaves one bunch after another. Racoons are climbers but I’ve never seen one this high. First I thought he was after bird eggs in a high nest but apparently it’s bugs or larvae he is feasting on and worth the climb. Read more [...]
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Baseball

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by James Wofford

The summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college I went to live with my grandfather for the summer. To help take care of him, and to keep me out of trouble. My grandmother had unexpectedly passed away the year before, and he had been diagnosed with stomach cancer and was beginning to go downhill. Me in my youthful naivete and he in his optimistic denial, didn’t realize it would be our last summer together. Read More

by James Wofford
The summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college I went to live with my grandfather for the summer. To help take care of him, and to keep me out of trouble. My grandmother had unexpectedly passed away the year before, and he had been diagnosed with stomach cancer and was beginning to go downhill. Me in my youthful naivete and he in his optimistic denial, didn’t realize it would be our last summer together. Read more [...]
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