Grief, Black Bears, & Psychic Powers

Photo by Diana Waldron

I am sitting outside face-to-face with the full moon. I am facing south. I hear the sounds of crickets chirping in the near-midnight hour. Cars driving by. Fingers tapping on keyboard.

Grief is lodged in my chest and deep in my diaphragm. It’s a constant guest (I wrote quest…) that never seems to go away. I ask it to tell me stories. It mostly just grumbles.