Author: John P. O'Grady

Mid-August, seventeen summers into a new millennium, morning migraine then guns going off all around all day echoing through the woods the mountains and valleys, “Land in the Sky”, crew of the Half Moon...

Somewhere in the middle, you said: “Things here are signs, but what we read is only half. Throw caution to the wind.” And so we did. Where are you now?

We stroll through wet woods, the collies and I, listening to birdsong and gazing at flowers. They chase chipmunks and follow the scent of deer. Now and then they perform a trick—Sit! Stay! Speak!...

In line for morning coffee at the hospital cafeteria. “Eventually,” says a woman in scrubs to her co-worker, “you run out of food. Then what’re you gonna do? Scrounge for quarters and go eat...

“For Sale By Owner” “Vacant Land” “2.1 Acres For Sale or Lease” “Model Home” “If You Lived Here You’d Be Home By Now” “Open House” “Historic Property” “Price Reduced” “Foreclosure Sale” “Faso For Congress”...

Where to begin? Looking, packing, getting distracted, whatever happened to that purple ironing board we used to have, or that hardcover first edition of ’Salem’s Lot Steve signed for me at Maine back in...

Blue-eyed grass my favorite, she said, comes to me through my own blue ones gliding by the heart as it finds its way out into the world that golden wing you see there on...

“Stuffing free” writing you get what you pay for verbal impaction extractor a couple stacks to read or peruse through bunch of bookmarks and marked up pages of manuscript going nowhere end of word...