A still night on the porch settles in my soul.

Behold, a Sower went out to sow. With his Son in toe, it would be the last time they spoke this side of the grave.

The following is a satirical letter written by the Reformer, Martin Luther, from the perspective of some birds.

Gathering sticks for the hanging ferns, a sparrow on my front porch thawed herself out in the early morning silence of my coffee and recitations of the Lord's Prayer.

My Mamaw wrote an autobiography of sorts.

The local coyote, mange-struck, found the neighbor's chickens in my yard over by the garden:
Feathers, blood, and bone, wet with dew.