Mrs. Vachel leaned far back into the past. She was going through her usual throes of agony at her usual hour. Oh! the agony of creation. How they were eating her up, how they were coming out of her in sixes and sevens! And the stillbirths–quadruplicate,...

First Bumblebee

I come back from my morning shower. First bumblebee of the season is navigating my room.   He buzzes unerringly out, curving ponderously along the illuminated mote pathway, into history, into spring. I am typing this note, buzzing a bit myself, when, surprise, I hear...